The Four Swords
by FairyMage
Summary: (Please R&R) Sagara Souzou, the sword of courage. Shinomori Aoshi, the sword of loyalty. Okita Soushi, the sword of strength. Sakaki Mieko, the sword of love. Four warriors of light and hope. Four swords for the future of Japan. (Shounen-Ai version)
1. Prologue: The Four Swords

UPDATED AUTHOR'S NOTE 3/15/05: As some of you may have noticed, I changed the prologue. The old prologue will be the prologue to the sequel to this fic, The Dark Side of the Moon. Sorry for any inconveniences! **elinviel** (my only reviewer) said she liked this bit and it made the story sound like a legend, so I moved it here. Hopefully it's a more effective prologue.

Please review!

Warning: **Mild Shounen-Ai **in later chapters.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I've taken many, MANY liberties with the characters, their personalities, and their ages, so please bear with me (trust me, I KNOW when I'm screwing something up from the graphic novels or the show). I've also altered the storyline a bit… You'll see when we get there. Also, any historical information you can provide would be most helpful and I'll take it into consideration when writing! Please read and review for me—I have emotional attachments to these characters (don't ask)!

Prologue: The Four Swords

_"Ojiisan! Tell me a story!" the little girl cried as she settled on her grandfather's lap._

"_Me too!" her little brother echoed, scrambling onto the bed and plopping down beside the old man._

_Smiling, he drew his grandson in and watched their big eyes fix on him. "Well… what kind of story?" he asked playfully, pinching his granddaughter's nose._

"_An old one," the boy said solemnly._

"_One with lots of interesting people," the girl added thoughtfully._

"_An' adven'ure" the boy supplied._

_The old man smiled, eyes crinkling in mirth. "I have just the one. Have I ever told you about the village where my sister and I grew up?"_

_The two children shook their heads, coming even closer in interest. "Well, it was a little village in the mountains. We were a peaceful, rice-growing village, with only—"_

"_This is boring," the boy pointedly informed his grandfather._

_The old man laughed. "Sorry, son, I just got carried away. During the Bakumatsu, a lord came to the village and took over. It was a terrible time for the village, though it only lasted a few months. Things got very bad for us… the lord took all of our food supplies to feed his army—"_

"_Why did he have an army?" the girl asked._

"_He was raising an army to fight the Shogun and the Meiji Government. He didn't like either of their policies, so he promised men that they would fight to reveal all of their lies. Anyway, the army was stationed outside the village. They were not honorable men. They, too, took advantage of the village and its people. One day, they attacked my sister, Akemi."_

_The little girl gasped. "Was she hurt?"_

"_Yes," her grandfather whispered, "Very badly. I tried to help her, but all that happened was this," he said, holding up his useless hand. The bones had healed many years ago, but they had not been set properly, leaving the hand completely worthless._

"_But one night, a great commotion happened down at the camp. No one knows exactly what happened, but somehow, four men infiltrated the army camp and attacked it from the inside. One of them even managed to slay the lord in his mansion. They say one of them was captured as a spy, and the other three came to his aid._

"_After that night, they disappeared for a few days, probably to let their wounds heal. While they were gone, they discovered the others' identities. One was a member of the Shinsengumi—"_

"_The great swordsmen of the Bakumatsu?" the little boy asked, excitedly._

"_Yes indeed."_

"_I want to be as good as Okita Soushi someday!" the boy cried, eyes gleaming bright in the lamplight._

"_Then you'd better train hard! They say Okita was matched only by the Hitokiri Battousai in skill, and maybe by Saitou Hajime."_

"_I will be better than all of them," the little boy boasted proudly._

_His grandfather laughed, then continued with his story. "Another was a member of the Oniwabanshu. You remember, I told you about them last week. They protected Edo Castle from the shadows—some of the greatest, though least known, fighters of the time. One was an Ishin Shishi, a member of the Sekihou Army."_

"_But I thought they were bad," the little girl said, frowning slightly._

_Her grandfather sighed, sadly. "I met a man from the Sekihou Army, once, one of their leaders. They were not bad, darling. They believed in what they were doing, and they were doing nothing wrong." He made the mental promise to tell his granddaughter the truth someday—that the government had lied about the Sekihou Army._

"_And the last was an independent assassin, loyal to neither side. According to the story, the only reason the assassin killed was to avenge innocent women and children, like Akemi."_

"_But then how did they get along?" the little girl asked, clearly seeing the problems with this story._

"_The story goes that they put aside their differences, just like that. They realized they were fighting for something higher than a side in the Revolution."_

"_Sounds fishy," the girl noted suspiciously._

_Her grandfather shrugged. "I just tell you the story I hear. After just a few days away, like I said, they came back and swept away whatever remained of the lord's army. The village was free again."_

"_Is that the end of the story?" the little boy asked, clearly disappointed._

"_No, of course not. That was just the beginning."_

"_What is it called, Ojiisan? You said all good stories have a name," the little boy reminded._

"_Most people that remember call it the Legend of the Four Swords. Four swords, they say, to protect the people. Four swords raised against evil. Four swords for Japan's future. Would you like to hear more?"_


	2. Chapter One: A Man of Ideals

"An army, eh? Civilians… Merchants and farmers. Need the support, don't they? Man like you gets them that support. You're just a pawn in a larger, dangerous game. You know why they're doing it, don't you?"

He sighed softly. "Yes, and no. Wouldn't it be nice if they were doing it for all the right reasons, and that the bad reasons were just a nice bonus?"

"Think like that and you'll get yourself killed."

"Maybe. But maybe I can help make Japan's tomorrow better."

---------------

"You wanted to see me?"

"Take it."

"What?"

"I said, take it. The whole network. Everything is yours to control and command."

There was a moment of silence, then, "Hmph. What kind of records do you keep? How can I get in touch with all of them?"

"They've been alerted already to the change in power. Or they will be shortly. Have no fear."

"That's not what I mean. When can I start sending them out?"

----------------

"Today's training was good."

"As good as it will ever be."

"I think it was very good. Are you always going to be a pessimist?"

"Probably."

Laughter. "Oh, that would be sad indeed. The world is not a place for pessimists. Pessimists will always see bad things. I see good things, you see."

"What good things can you see for Japan, with the Ishin Shishi?"

"I see… not bad people, just people who are not loyal. Or rather, people who are loyal to ideas more than tradition. Perhaps it is these people that will make Japan good. Don't you think so?"

------------------

"More tea, Lord Kawami?"

"Yes, please. So as I was saying… thank you, my dear."

"Go on, Kawami. Tell us what you know."

"Well, we got word yesterday that one of the patriot leaders is hiding out in Kyoto. Got the hideout and everything. Thanks to the onmitsu, ne?" (A/N: "ne" is Japanese for, "isn't that so?" sort of like "eh"… or at least, that's what I remember from Japanese school)

Chortles and outright laughter followed. "Those fools. There is no better than the Oniwabanshu! They should know! Enough of them have been killed thanks to their information!"

-------------------

Night fell quietly on Kyoto, failing to reflect the turmoil of the times. A young man strode silently, yet confidently, down the streets, turning quickly and with certainty. He stopped before a small house crushed between an inn and a busy restaurant, a house that simply faded into the background and was passed by.

He slid the door open gently and hurried up the flight of stairs. As he reached the top step the usual guards stopped him.

"Good evening, sir. Inouya is inside, waiting for you. We'll take care of things out here." He nodded, and stepped passed the guards into the inner room.

"Ah, the famed idealist Sagara. Pleased to meet you. Name's Inouya Tarou, a leader of the Ishin Shishi."

"Why have you requested to meet me?" Sagara asked pleasantly. He had seen enough to distrust this man ever so slightly, patriot though he was.

"Well. You're the newest leader of the movement, aren't you? It would be impolite of me not to introduce myself to you, invite you into our circle, you know?"

"I am the Captain of the Sekihou Army, a civilian unit. I will not be drawn into the politics of the new government. I fight for the arising Meiji government because it holds higher ideals than the shogunate. It promises that the poor and the weak will no longer be exploited. That, Inouya-san, is why I've pledged my sword to the Ishin Shishi."

Inouya was silent for a moment, then chuckled. "You're as idealistic as they say you are. I just wanted to meet you. Please, I've been rude. Sit down, Sagara-san. Would you like some tea?"

Sagara waved it away. "No thank you, Inouya-san. If there is nothing else, then I should be going."

"No, stay, make yourself comfortable. I'm interested in you, young man."

Sagara laughed. "Hardly young anymore, Inouya-san. I'm nearly twenty-five."

"Still young compared to some of the rest of us. I remember when I was twenty-five… In any case, I _am_ still interested in you. Why is it that you do not stay among the upper-class? A man of your standing would have a place in the new government, or even in the Shogunate. You should be at home, running a manor and married with children."

Sagara smiled. He'd ruled out marriage a long time ago, when he'd first begun work for the new movement. "I've given up any thoughts of marriage and children. It's too dangerous in my line of work. Besides," he said with a little shrug, "I never found any woman I liked enough to want to marry. And I've already told you why I'm here—I fight for those who cannot fight for themselves. That is all. I believe in equality for the 'lower-classes'—I believe in class-less equality."

"As does the new government," Inouya was quick to assure him. Sagara Souzou was famous for his skill as a leader and with a sword. They _needed_ him desperately. The farmers and merchants looked to him for guidance and hope.

Suddenly, Sagara stiffened. There was something unnerving about this place now… Why couldn't he hear the guards outside anymore? They'd been quiet, yes, but he'd still been able to hear their slight movements and whispered conversations.

"Inouya-san. Do you hear what I hear?"

"No, Sagara-san. I hear nothing."

"Precisely." He stood, turning to face the door, and drew his sword. Taking a slow, deep breath, he readied himself for battle. He heard Inouya draw his own sword and stand ready.

The screen moved ever so slightly as someone gently tried to slide it open without drawing attention. They must have realized their presence was known and secrecy was unnecessary, because the next moment five men burst into the room.

_Assassins_, Sagara thought. He knew the look—and these, specifically, were Oniwabanshu. He cursed to himself. These foolish patriots! To get caught like this! The guards were probably all dead… He tensed as he waited for one of them to strike. They blocked the only feasible exit besides the window. He and Inouya were trapped.

A small man standing before Sagara leapt at him. Assassins were different than swordsmen; Sagara did not know how to fight them well. He prayed that his sword would protect him and fell into the ready position.

Suddenly, the man stopped, as if frozen in time in mid-air, and choked. Blood spurted from his throat, where the hilt of a dagger protruded.

With a sharp cry something dropped from the rafters. Sagara made out a human form as it flew towards an assassin, both legs kicking at his head to knock him backwards. It landed with silent grace, poised for attack, a knife gleaming in one hand.

Neither he nor Inouya really saw the fight, because the next thing they knew the remaining three assassins had lunged for the intruder. Knives flashed in the faint moonlight, but it was clear that their protector outclassed the assassins. Watching them fight, Sagara determined that whoever had saved them was a skilled martial artist _and_ assassin. He was good. His legs kicked easily, and his punches landed without fail. A countless number of knives seemed to be hidden on his body, although only four were actually used.

When every assassin lay dead, the new assassin stood silently. Sagara kept his sword ready, as did Inouya. Even if this assassin had saved them, they still did not know his motive. Instead of attacking them, the assassin turned to them and nodded. Sagara saw beautiful, deep, amber-brown eyes with many secrets behind them. Before he could say anything, the assassin had darted to the window and leapt out. He landed lightly on the ground, then took off—a mere shadow in the streets of Kyoto.

--------------------

Sagara turned towards his companion. "Do you know who might have sent assassins?" he asked, trying to tread cautiously. In these times, you couldn't even trust your allies. That disappointed Sagara, but he had no choice in the matter.

"Any number of Shogunate nobles or officials…"

"Anybody in particular?"

He shook his head. "The Ishin Shishi have many enemies, Sagara-san. I cannot know which one may have been at work here."

"Somebody close to the Oniwabanshu," Sagara murmured, kneeling down to examine the fallen assassins. These were lesser assassins; true, high-ranking Oniwabanshu close to the Okashira would not have fallen like this. If it had been the _true_ power of the Oniwabanshu, he, Inouya, and the other assassin would have been dead.

"The Oniwabanshu fight for the Shogunate. It could still be anyone," Inouya said, resigned.

"This house is useless to the Ishin Shishi now. Let's go."

Sagara and Inouya left the house, stripping the patriot guards before they left. There was nothing they could do with the bodies but whisper soft prayers over them, thanking them for their lives. They took anything that might lead the Shinsengumi to more of the patriots.

They hurried through the streets of Kyoto. Inouya was leaving the city, headed for another Ishin Shishi safe spot. Sagara was looking for an inn to stay the night. After parting with Inouya and being admitted into a room at a nearby inn, Sagara lay on the futon and thought.

Why had the assassin showed up? How did he know what was going on? He knew that assassins didn't simply come running to help when they heard a fight. So why protect him and Inouya? The Ishin Shishi, if they had any assassins, would have at least identified themselves to each other. So this assassin, Sagara thought, was not an official member of the Ishin Shishi. Or maybe the assassin was just being careful. But a Shogunate assassin? Why would he have killed the Oniwabanshu? Not much was making sense right now.

With a heavy sigh, Sagara rolled over onto his side. The last thing he saw in his mind was the assassin's eyes, brilliant pools of amber glowing in the moonlight.


	3. Chapter Two: The Youngest Leader

"The assassin still puzzles me."

"You should be thankful that you are alive, Sagara."

"But I wonder _why_ I am alive. Who knew about the assassins' plan to be at the house?"

A shrug. "Probably very few."

"Exactly. So who would betray the Shogunate—and more importantly, the Oniwabanshu?"

---------------------

"Every one of them?"

"Yes. All five."

"How were they killed?"

"Not with swords. Two were knife wounds to the chest, one was a knife wound in the gut, and one was a knife in the throat. The last one was knocked unconscious and had his throat slit."

Silence. "Hmmm. The work of an assassin, wouldn't you agree?"

"Yes, Okashira-san. That makes sense. It was certainly not the two who escaped."

"I thought we agreed you would use my name… I wonder what assassin would be fool enough to toy with the Oniwabanshu?"

--------------------------

"Nothing on the guard's bodies."

"Somebody who escaped alive stripped them."

"Must have been a patriot. The Oniwabanshu were left untouched."

"Indeed. Oh well."

"Oh well?"

"Hai, my friend. There is not much more that we can do. We must simply wait for the next time." A pause. "I'm rather glad someone escaped alive."

A snort. "So they can come back to bite us again?"

Laughter. "You take things so seriously. No, I'm glad that someone escaped because it reminds me that there is still dignity in life and death."

------------------------

"Damn! How could they have escaped?"

"The Oniwabanshu are usually very careful, my lord, are they not?"

"Yes! And that is what baffles me! Nobody knew of the plan except for the Oniwabanshu and those that I told!"

"Perhaps they were followed. More tea, Lord Kawami?"

"Yes, yes, thank you dear. Oniwabanshu are never followed. They follow others, but are never followed themselves. No, someone must have betrayed us."

"Perhaps someone heard fighting and came to fight as well."

"It is possible. Ah, too many things to consider. I must be alone to think."

"Of course, my lord. Of course."

----------------------

Edo Castle stood proudly against the cloudy sky, seemingly ignorant of the warfare and death that surrounded it. The rain had begun to fall heavily yesterday and had not ceased since. Hannya watched the guards patrolling the gates beneath him. Satisfied that they were doing an adequate job, he leapt off and hurried silently through hallways to find the Okashira.

"Good afternoon, Hannya," he said, pleasantly. Hannya swore silently. How was it that the Okashira could always sense Hannya, when no other man could?

"I trust you've looked over the gate guards and found them satisfactory."

"Hai, Okashira-san."

"Good," he said with a nod. "I have a new task for you. Find me some assassins in the lower ranks of the Oniwabanshu. Five should be enough. Have them report to my room tonight."

"Consider it done, Okashira-san."

"Hannya?"

"Yes?"

"Don't call me Okashira-san. If you must, you can refer to me as the Okashira outside of here. Between us, you may call me Aoshi."

"Hai… Aoshi-san."

Aoshi nodded. "Good. Now that that's taken care of, I have someplace to be. I'll speak to you later, Hannya."

Hannya watched as Aoshi turned and wandered away down the hallway. The Okashira was interesting indeed. He seemed cold, ruthless, and predatory most of the time. That was how he became Okashira at such a young age, they said. Aoshi was only 15. Hannya thought it odd that one so young would already seem so jaded.

But then, who was he to talk? Shaking his head, he leapt back onto the roofs in search of assassins.

-----------------

Aoshi, meanwhile, went back to his rooms and sat on the tatami. Sighing, he removed his outer garments and replaced them with a simple white robe that fell loosely on his slim body. He closed his eyes and rested, consciously relaxing every muscle in his strained body.

Being the Okashira was difficult. No wonder so few held the position for very long. Perhaps they'd thought his youth would see him through these final years of the Shogunate. They were partially wrong. Aoshi would stay Okashira because he was good to his word, not entirely because he was young.

But his youth meant that he was not adequately prepared to be Okashira. The Oniwabanshu respected him because that was what was expected. He was also an amazing swordsman, one few would dare to cross. Though he'd risen to the practical aspects of being Okashira, he still lacked something, something vital.

He sighed again and stood. His body felt stiff and tired, but he had no time to sleep. He knew if he slept now, he wouldn't wake until the next morning. Aoshi glanced longingly at his futon. Surely someone would wake him in time to speak with the assassins…

He lay flat on his back and stared upward at the ceiling. This was the time when he thought about anything that troubled his conscience. Today, he wondered who was right. The Shogunate fought the arising Meiji government, each with their own opinion of "right for Japan." But who really was right? And who determined what was right? Aoshi certainly thought that the Shogunate was a little outdated, and that its policies could use a facelift. The Meiji government had proposed some interesting programs for the poor, who were, Aoshi admitted, largely ignored under the Shogunate. Did that make them right?

But he fought for the Shogunate. Why? Because he was a swordsman by nature, and the Shogunate supported him?

_Because I am Oniwabanshu_, he reminded himself. _The Oniwabanshu are loyal to the Shogunate, even if they do not believe in all of their policies. Loyalty above all else, ne?_

And one day, who knew? Maybe the Oniwabanshu would be so powerful that their voices could be heard.

-----------------

"Okashira-san?" a voice called as the incessant tapping on the paper door continued.

"Aoshi-sama?" Hannya's voice cut through the room.

Aoshi groaned and lifted his head and shoulders from the futon. Blinking furiously to clear his vision and adjust to the night's light, he mumbled something of an assent. He heard the door slide open as Hannya led the assassins in.

"Shall we come back in a few minutes, Okashira-san?" one of the assassins asked.

Groggily, Aoshi jerked the rest of his torso off his futon. "No, no," he managed to say, running his hands through his hair.

The assassins and Hannya waited patiently as Aoshi dragged himself off the futon and wrapped himself in a dark blue kimono. He gave that strange half-smile and said, "Not a very dignified meeting, ne?"

Hannya shrugged. "We are not the ones to say."

"Thank you, Hannya. As for the five of you…" he said, turning to the assassins. Hannya understood the exit cue and stepped outside. Aoshi thought about stopping him, but realized with his sixth sense that Hannya was not gone.

"Hannya brought me information yesterday of an Ishin Shishi safe house in Kyoto. I'm dispatching you to kill everyone inside. Gather as much information as you can afterward. Your goal is to render the house useless and, hopefully, kill a key leader or two. Take no more than a week to strike. Any longer and your presence in the city becomes suspicious."

They nodded. The leader, a short man dressed in dark blue, gestured to the others. They filed silently out of the room. They asked no questions of their leader. Hannya would tell them where the house was located and any details the Okashira had missed.

After filling in the blanks in the assassin's job, Hannya waited in the hallway. "I know you're still there, Hannya," Aoshi called. Hannya smiled ruefully. _Damn him_, he thought, for the second time that day.

"Indeed, Aoshi-san." He stepped silently back into the room.

"Tell me why you're Oniwabanshu," Aoshi murmured as soon as Hannya was settled. He was seated, cross-legged, meditatively facing a wall with his back to Hannya. He was clearly a trusting and confident man. Few men now would sit with their back to a door.

"You know, Aoshi-san, why I am here."

He sighed. "Remind me. Is there anything more than…" he trailed off. There was no need to dig up Hannya's past, something neither of them wanted to delve into.

Hannya shrugged. "No. If not for… that, I would be your normal farm child. The Oniwabanshu gives me purpose, something to do, something for my talents. I am not useless here. The Oniwabanshu need me."

"No deeper reason for being here?"

Hannya shook his head. "No, I don't think so, Aoshi-san." Aoshi sighed. "Is there something wrong?"

"No, no Hannya. That is what I suspected you would answer." _It is what I suspect _I _would answer, if asked. And that is the answer I do not wish to give_.

The silence that filled the room told Hannya to take his leave. Silently, he stepped through the doorway and slid the door back into place, leaving Aoshi alone in his room to think.

-----------------

A few days later the rain had finally let up and was now only a steady drizzle. Not as pleasant as a sun, Aoshi thought, but not as bad as a full rainstorm. Besides, he liked the rain.

As he stood watching the beautiful curtain of mist rise and droplets fall, his reverie was broken by a sharp tapping on the door. He turned as Saitou Hajime, a captain of the Shinsengumi, entered. Aoshi remembered that Saitou was one of the best swordsmen in Japan, said to rival even the Hitokiri Battousai in skill. Not that anyone _really_ knew, since they had not yet faced each other.

"Saitou-san. What can I do for you?" Aoshi asked politely.

"Captain Okita wanted me to bring you the news. Five Oniwabanshu assassins were found dead in Kyoto, along with several Ishin Shishi guards."

Aoshi's face betrayed no shock or anger. It stayed calm and placid, like a lake on a sunny day. "Is that all, Saitou-san?"

Saitou nodded, and left. Encounters with either of the two were usually like that: brief, to the point, and emotionless.

"Hannya!" Aoshi called. The spy was somewhere near, he could sense it… No wonder he'd been away for the past day. Aoshi hadn't seen him at all yesterday.

"Hai, Aoshi-san?" Hannya replied shortly, dropping down behind Aoshi.

"You've been in Kyoto, haven't you?"

"I have."

"How did you know?"

"I'm a spy, Aoshi-san. Information gathering is what I do best."

"What do you know, or what did you observe?"

"The assassins failed. They are all dead."


	4. Chapter Three: Cherry Blossoms

"We're supposed to be used for combat?"

"Hai, Sagara-san. That is what they've said."

"That's insane! I didn't agree to help them so I could train farmers to kill soldiers—or be slaughtered by them!"

"I'm sorry, Sagara-sama. I only repeat the message I have been ordered to bring."

"Tell them I refuse. I refuse to train my army to be soldiers. They will be trained in defense, but nothing more."

"You know they will refuse…"

"Damn them!" A fist pounded on the table. "I'm fighting for peace, do you hear me? I'm siding with the Imperialists so that the poor won't suffer anymore! And I tell you that they will only be trained in defensive technique!"

-------------------

"Hannya."

"Hai, Aoshi-sama?"

"The assassin. Who could it be?"

"Ishin Shishi, perhaps. I take that back—likely."

"But not an assassin like Hitokiri Battousai. Those are the kind of assassins the patriots seem to favor."

"No, indeed. This one is a more traditional assassin. Ninja-like, you might say. And they're very clean—very good."

A long pause, then, "Find this assassin."

"Sir?"

"I know you can, Hannya. It might take years, possibly, but I know you're the best. The Oniwabanshu can use such a skilled assassin, can't it?"

"Hai, Aoshi-sama. I'll start looking now."

------------------

"Just give up, my friend. They are not to be caught yet."

"With all due respect, _Captain_, shouldn't you be encouraging your men to go after the patriots?"

A shrug. "Maybe. But it seems as though they were not meant to be caught this time."

"My men, at least, are out looking for them."

"Good. I'm sure you will be duly rewarded if you should catch them. Look, Saitou, at the garden. The sakura are so lovely this time of year."

"I can see sakura any year in the spring."

"But what if this is your last year?"

"Then I will not see the cherry blossoms again. I cannot see how it makes a difference."

"It is the little things, Saitou, that make the differences. I would rather die today having seen these delicate flowers than live a hundred years without ever seeing these seas of pink."

------------------

"Have you heard, Kawami-san, about Lord Nobori's latest escapades?"

"No, please tell me."

"He's gaining a great deal of power. It's said that he's raising his own army to fight for his ideas with."

"Who's it made up of?"

A shrug. "Heard different things. Rurouni, bandits, fight merchants, ex-Shinsengumi, ex-Oniwabanshu, that lot."

A low, appreciative whistle. "If that's so, and he's got himself some army. Will he help us?"

Another shrug. "Who knows what Nobori's thinking? Some say he sides with the patriots, others say he likes the feudal system, and some say he'd just as soon fight for his own version of Japan. We'll be getting more information from the Oniwabanshu, I'm sure. For now, we can only sip our tea and wait."

--------------

The group moved slowly through the streets of Kyoto, searching for signs of the patriots they knew were here. They stalked down streets in a large group, trying to intimidate the Ishin Shishi and provoke them at the same time.

"Saitou-san," the shortest and youngest looking one said.

"Hmmm?" the tall man beside him responded.

"Why do you think the assassin fights for the Imperialists?"

"Ara? What kind of question is that?"

"A good one, I imagine, because you can't answer it," the younger-looking man teased.

Saitou's eyes narrowed dangerously, but his companion was not afraid. Saitou was an amazing swordsman, with his Gatotsu technique, but he was led by three words that did not apply to his companion. He liked to press Saitou's buttons every so often. He was always so serious and so dreary… though he smiled occasionally, it was a smile to be feared.

He smiled most when he smelled the blood of the Ishin Shishi.

Not that he was demonic or anything, he just had no qualms with killing. Some found it disturbing, but his companion knew that for Saitou, life was simple. It was three words.

"_Aku. Soku. Zan._"

"I care not why the man known as Hitokiri Battousai fights for the patriots. I want to fight and kill him. That is all."

"Aku, soku, zan, ne?"

"Something like that."

'Ah, Saitou. I wish life were that simple for me also."

"Okita-san, you choose to make your life more difficult. I do not. I choose to live my life by three words, and three words only, and to forget the many others in between."

"Like sakura?" Okita asked, catching a blossom blowing in the breeze.

Saitou snorted. "Especially sakura. They mean little to me, Okita. I cannot see why you put such store by them."

Okita sighed. "You are such a sad and dreary man, Saitou. For one so young, you should appreciate feminine beauty more."

"What?"

Okita smiled, the impish grin playing across his lips. "I mean, Saitou, that you are younger than myself, yet you are more pessimistic. You have more years to live than I, yet you appreciate infinitely less. You have health that I do not, yet you think not of a future or family." He hoped Saitou would ignore the reference to health; he had not meant for that to be said.

"I set store by the sakura, Saitou, because they are beautiful and everlasting."

"They are delicate, Okita. Look," he crushed three blossoms beneath his heel.

"But look at how many more are left," Okita cried happily, spreading his arms to the trees lining the streets. "No matter what happens, they always return to bloom the next year. And no matter how many one man may crush, there are always more to take their place," he murmured, placing the blossom in his hand in Saitou's.

They continued along with the Shinsengumi, each quietly contemplating the pale pink sakura.

----------------

"Okita-sama!" a young Shinsengumi called, running up behind the group.

"Hai, I am Captain Okita," he said, stopping and letting the other Shinsengumi move on. Saitou stayed by his side.

"Captain Okita. Captain Saitou," the young man said breathlessly, bowing to each of them. "I bring you news from Hijikata."

"Ara? That is a surprise," Saitou said, eyes crinkling into what might be considered a smile.

"Hai, indeed, what a pleasant surprise. To what do we owe this honor?" Okita asked, smiling broadly at the young man.

"Hijikata-sama has asked you to attend to him tonight. He has a new plan for the Shinsengumi raids that he wishes to discuss with you."

"Ah, is that so?" Okita murmured, tapping his fingers against his chin.

"Tell Hijikata we will be there," Saitou said gruffly.

"Ah! Saitou! So rude, ne? _Please_ take word to Hijikata-sama that Saitou and I would be glad to see him tonight," Okita said brightly, smiling again.

"Anou… hai!" the flustered young man replied, turning to go.

"Chotto matte! Namae wa nan desuka?" Okita asked. (A/N: "Wait a minute! What is your name?")

"Ah… Fujita. Fujita Gorou."

-------------------

"Konbanwa, Hijikata-sama," Okita murmured respectfully, bowing to the top Vice Captain of the Shinsengumi. Saitou bowed as well but stayed silent.

"Good evening, Okita-san, Saitou-san. Sake?"

"Iie, Hijikata-sama," Okita declined politely. Hijikata held the bottle out to Saitou.

He shook his head. "Drinking sake makes me want to kill."

Hijikata displayed no surprise at Saitou's words, but poured himself a small cup and drank it down. "Sake tastes wonderful on a spring night like this," he murmured to himself.

"The young man… Fujita-san told us you had news for us?" Okita asked with a small smile. Saitou looked at his friend. Okita was always wearing a smile, and was always speaking in pleasant tones. Even when fighting, he smiled and spoke politely, ruthless though he was.

"Hai, Okita-san. We begin raiding inns tomorrow night."

"Ara?" Saitou asked, slightly surprised.

Okita frowned heavily. "What about the people staying in the inn?"

"It does not seem like the Shinsengumi to resort to raiding public accommodations," Saitou muttered darkly. _So_, Okita thought, slightly amused. _Even Saitou does not approve_.

Hijikata sighed. Okita had not thought that Hijikata came up with this plan on his own; Hijikata was an intelligent and thoughtful man. "We have no choice, Okita-san. The top captains want something done about the growing number of Ishin Shishi in Kyoto. They proposed this plan to me. I could only accept."

"Hmph," was Saitou's gruff response.

Okita nodded sadly. "Very well, Hijikata-sama. The First and Third troops will begin raids tomorrow night."

It was the first time Saitou had seen a truly sorrowful look on Okita's face.

-------------------

The next night was dark and cloudy, with only a sliver of moon peeping through to illuminate the streets of Kyoto. Saitou and Okita ran like silent shadows through the streets, destinations already planned.

"Turn here," Saitou hissed at Okita, and Okita gave the signal to the men running behind them.

"Open up!" Saitou yelled, banging on the inn door. "Shinsengumi!" To Okita, he muttered, "I hope those damn captains know what they're doing."

Okita made no response. His face was uncharacteristically grim, and set.

The door slid open just barely as a young woman peeked out. "Shinsengumi?" she asked faintly. When she saw Saitou's blue uniform, she drew the door open all the way.

"Go!" Saitou barked, and the Shinsengumi poured into the inn.

"Gomen," Okita whispered to the terrified young woman. He dropped a small pouch into her hands. "Take this from me—not a gift from the Shinsengumi, but from myself, as an honorable member." Then he ran into the street with Saitou to wait for any patriots to come out.

A small band of them that had escaped the Shinsengumi inside ran through the door, stopping when they saw Saitou and Okita. Neither had their sword drawn, so the Ishin Shishi tried to take advantage of it.

A barely perceptible click indicated Okita had drawn his sword. He drew a large arc in front of him, cutting down three of the men. An upward slash took care of one that was falling towards him. Two steps to the next one—a swift cut to the right, then left. Saitou was staying out of this one, for now, but his sword was drawn and his Gatotsu technique was at ready.

A little leap backward and a cut downwards while in the air. A stab into the back as the next one charged. A quick cut across the abdomen, and an upward cut along the breastbone to finish him. A wide horizontal slash across the front to finish.

Saitou watched silently. Okita was a good swordsman—no, great—but he was simple and practical. He did what was necessary to do the job. When he was done, Saitou went over to him.

"We'll clean up here. Do you want to move on?"

"Hai. Arigatou, Saitou-san."

"I'll tell your men where you're going."

----------------

Okita ran around the corner, skidding around to hide behind a building. Gasping for breath, he listened to see if any of the Shinsengumi could hear him. Satisfied that they could not, he took a deep breath.

And let the wracking coughs buried in his chest take over.

He coughed no harder than usual tonight, but the coughs seemed different to him. They made his body shudder and go into brief spasms. He tasted blood in his mouth, and he spit it out.

When at last the coughing subsided, he wiped the blood from his mouth and set out towards the next inn. He could not distinguish between the blood of his enemies and his own blood that stained his uniform.


	5. Chapter Four: Amber Eyes

"I cannot make them do these things."

"You're under orders, Sagara. You have no choice."

"Is that the way it is? That as soon as we stand to fight for our ideals we must relinquish our power of choice?"

"Maybe that's not how it should be, but now… with the Shinsengumi and the Oniwabanshu and the Bakufu all on the tails of the Ishin Shishi, it is hard."

"Before I agreed to help form the Sekihou, I was ordered to do some terrible things. I don't regret them now; I can't afford to. I know why I did them and I know I didn't like doing them. Arson, theft, murder—everything. I had hoped I would not have to ask other men to do the same… to lower themselves and throw away their dignity for their ideals, simply because the government says to."

"You're too idealistic. If a man is to fight for his ideals, it is not unreasonable to expect him to do less than ideal things."

"I've heard that one before."

"So what are you going to do?"

"Tell them what you told me. And let them make their own decisions from there."

-------------

"Any luck, Hannya?"

"Iie, Aoshi-sama. It is as if the assassin has disappeared. There are no new leads, and no new strikes."

"Odd, isn't it? If the assassin were Ishin Shishi, surely they would know about the Shinsengumi inn raids and be there."

"They were daring enough to take on Oniwabanshu; surely the Shinsengumi would be no problem."

"An independent assassin, then?"

"It would seem so."

"Where do they get their information?"

"It would be difficult to say, but I would guess through Kawami. He is careless with his words, whereas the Oniwabanshu are not—as you would know. I think he is the most careless of the lords."

"Very well, Hannya. See if you can find out anything through that route. It might yield more answers that way. Oh, and Hannya?"

"Hai?"

"Start with the servants. They know everything, even if they pretend they don't."

-----------

"Saitou! Saitou!"

"What is it, Okita?"

"The Second and Fourth units have been assigned tonight. We are free to do as we please!"

"Not quite, Okita."

"Oh, Saitou, must you ruin my fun? I am, actually, quite glad we will not need to kill tonight."

"Killing is killing, Okita. You will do it again tomorrow night, if not tonight."

"But think—all the men who might have fallen on our swords will not. Maybe tonight they will live."

"You give them too many chances. You know that if they escape now, they will come back worse than before. And their deaths are inevitable anyway."

"No, Saitou; don't you feel uncomfortable about this new policy?"

"More than I thought I would be."

"Ah! So you are human! It is different, to kill like this… I would rather kill when they are meeting, or plotting, or fighting us, than when they are sleeping peacefully. Sleep is when they dream of those pleasant things they have forgotten—childhood, friends, home-cooked meals and soft beds. They dream of those things they hope to achieve—peace, equality, justice. They dream of those things which they may never have—wife, children, home. That is why I dislike this policy so much, Saitou. I cannot bear to destroy their dreams like that."

----------------

"What is the news on Nobori?"

"It is difficult to say what side he is on, but the Oniwabanshu onmitsu have informed us that he is, indeed, gathering an army. It's made up of mainly those dissatisfied with government in general, it appears."

"Where is he housing this army? How can he maintain such an army?"

"They said he has taken over several villages in order to supply the food and such for his men. Their camp has been set up outside of a mountain village called Hanayama, who must be bearing the brunt of the new army. That is all the onmitsu would tell me."

"Mmm. Interesting news, indeed. What should we do?"

"Wait, I suppose. When Nobori makes public his army, we should try to win him over."

"He is a sound strategist. The people of the villages have been ordered to work for him and accommodate the new army. The villages surround his own land, so he is somewhat safe, provided his army is well trained."

"Indeed, Lord Kawami. I shall send word to the other lords quickly."

"Thank you. This tea is wonderful; is there any more?"

------------------

_Place the cups neatly on the tray, next to the teapot. Make sure the tea has been sitting the appropriate amount of time. Fold your sleeves back. Lift and place the cups before them. Pour the tea… No! Damn!_

The young woman gritted her teeth in annoyance. The Lord did not seem to notice, but she knew that with anymore more attentive she would have been caught. Nearly three months at this, and she still could not pour tea correctly! If the women in the kitchens found out, there would be no end to the torment.

_And_ she would not be allowed to go out tonight, which she desperately needed to.

Sighing slightly, she attempted again to pour tea for the Lord and his guest. Finally, she did it without any noticeable mistakes and retreated with her tray. She sat in the corner of the room, waiting for their next request. She hated it especially when they sent her out of the room. She feared missing anything.

As she listened to the conversation, her eyes fell into their usual half-lidded position. _So… this Nobori…_ She resolved to find out more about Hanayama. She imagined it was within traveling distance for her. The Lord would not need her again today or tomorrow, her day off. She need not return for another two days, then, before her duties required her.

_Interesting_, she thought with a frown. _I do not like this Lord Nobori_.

"Ah, Mieko-chan—" it irked her still that he regarded her as a child. But then, maybe that was because she refused to bed with him—"is there more tea?"

"Hai, Kawami-sama," she murmured delicately, scooting over to pour the tea.

This time, she did it without any mishap.

-----------------

"Mieko-san! What is wrong with you today? Stop daydreaming!" the head maid, Nakari, demanded.

"Ah, gomennasai, Nakari-san."

"Well hurry up and finish washing those tea things. I'm not letting you off until you have."

"Ah, arigatou. I will be going out tonight, Nakari-san, and I don't know when I'll return."

Nakari's eyes narrowed suspiciously. The Lord already disliked this girl because she refused him; what other secrets was she hiding? "Where will you be going?"

A shrug. "I don't know yet. I thought about going into Kyoto, or perhaps to one of the mountain villages. They are interesting places."

Nakari sighed. This girl was not suspicious, only odd. "Very well. Tomorrow is your day off, so I suppose I can't complain too much."

"Hai, arigatou," Mieko said, folding her dishtowel neatly.

---------------

Back in her rooms, Mieko carefully exchanged her expensive, embroidered kimono for a simpler patterned one. She wrapped the obi twice around her and tied it with a simple knot. She lifted her already packed bag and stepped into the hallway.

No one was around to watch her leave, so she walked down the hallway and out the servants' gate. Once beyond the reach of the manor house, she slipped into the woods and found the narrow, hidden path. She followed its twists and turns until she reached the small, secret house.

Making sure no one was around, she pushed open the door and bolted it. Finally, her night would begin.

She pulled the pins from her elaborate hairstyle and let the long ebony hair fall. She wrapped it neatly into a ponytail, in the style of a man. Then she shed her obi and kimono and folded them neatly. She retrieved the long roll of black cloth from her bag, and bound her breasts against her body. Standing only in her undergarments, she reached for her bag again.

From it she drew the black clothes and donned them. Then she wrapped a strip of cloth over her mouth. If anything of her face gave her away, it was her sensuous, full mouth. Her eyes revealed nothing. She pulled the gloves on and flexed her fingers.

The last part of her preparation was the most difficult. She reached into the bag for the small sack, turning it over to spill its contents on the floor. She inspected every knife, making sure the edges were bright and sharp. Satisfied that they were, she stashed them on her body—two on each leg, one on each arm, two near her waist, and one against her breast. The last thing she took was a short sword—slightly longer than a kodachi, but definitely not a katana—and slid it down her back. She hated carrying it, since she was not a particularly tall woman, but nine knives might not cut it this night.

---------------

She darted through the forest, silent as a shadow, leaping from tree to tree or covering the ground with her quick running. Hanayama was not far, she remembered from Kawami's map. If she kept up this pace, she would be there in just a few hours. This pace was not tiring for her, either. The night air invigorated her senses and body. The stars and moon lit her way.

She preferred this darkness to the sunshine of the day. Night shrouded and protected her; day left her vulnerable and exposed.

As she suspected, the trip to Hanayama took only three hours. _Not bad_, she thought to herself, dusting her hands against her thighs.

"Hmmm," she murmured to herself. "Now where to?"

She started by wandering through the town, staying in dark alleyways and the roofs. Finally, she found an inn that seemed to be open, and seemed to be selling sake. _Perfect place for that army to be at this time_.

She dropped down beside a wall that light was shining through. She settled down on her haunches to listen.

"Ah, have you heard what those men did to Akemi-san?" a woman's voice said softly.

Gasps. _At least five people. And not fighters, either._

"And her brother… they say he'll never wield a sword again!"

"If only the Lord Nobori had not brought those men!"

"Shhh! Say things like that and we'll all pay!"

"Keep talking. I have no problem taking care of you," a cold voice said.

_Shit! Where did he come from?_ Mieko thought, scrambling to her feet and frantically looking for a way in. A woman cried out sharply. _Oh, damn!_ she thought, as she threw her body against the paper and wood walls.

A quick glance told her everything she needed to know. Two women and two men cowered against a wall, four of the five people she'd heard earlier. _Not bad, Mieko. Sharpening your hearing is going very well_. The third woman was being held by the neck of her kimono by a man, a sword at her throat.

Without a sound she leapt forward, deciding that she would start with fists instead of knives. The man hissed and dropped the woman, turning his sword on Mieko. Narrowing her eyes, she ducked, dropping her head to the side to avoid the swing. She came up underneath and landed an upward punch to his jaw. Pressed against his body, she pulled her left hand back and punched straight into his diaphragm. He grunted, but she refused to let up. With her left hand she held his hakama; with her right, she continued to pummel him. At last, she pushed off the ground with both feet and kicked into his chest.

He dropped heavily to the ground, then grabbed his katana and swung it wildly at her. She leapt cleanly off the ground so that it swung beneath her feet. She landed on his chest, watching the horror take over his face. With her right foot she pinned his sword-hand to the ground.

"Never take advantage of an innocent woman," she hissed, flipping out the knife hidden on her right arm and slitting his throat.

She stood with a sigh. _What am I going to do with this body?_

Deepening her voice, she spoke to the five civilians without turning to them. "If I take this body, will you clean up?"

"H…Hai…" one of the men stammered.

"Good. Clean up and fix that wall. Was this man staying here?"

"I…Iie," the woman who had nearly died said.

"Even better. I'll take care of this."

She slung the dead body over her shoulder. _Shit, there'll be blood on my clothes now._

She leapt onto the roofs, running over them back towards the forest.

-------------------

Mieko landed silently on the outskirts of the army camp and glanced around. _If I were an asshole who just raped a girl and beat her brother… I would be bragging to my fellows._

That decided, she ran around the edge of the camp, searching for the pinprick of light that indicated wakefulness. _A fire. Men sitting around a fire._

At last, she saw it between tents. She darted past the tents and knelt beside one closest to the men. She heard him boasting, and gagged. _I hate men like that_. He reminded her of Kawami—disgusting, but highly useful for information. Men like that couldn't keep their mouths shut.

"She was a good one," he gloated. "Didn't expect to find such… sweetness out here," he chortled, wrapping his tongue seductively around the word "sweetness." Her eyes narrowed. Now she wanted him dead.

"And her brother! Foolish boy. Came running up swinging at me with his shinai… I crushed his hand to make sure he never challenges me again." _And he'll never defend his sister again_.

She gritted her teeth and settled down to wait. This man would be relating his tale for a long time, and she intended to follow him back to his tent. He would pay—but only him, and quietly, too.

It took nearly an hour before the men stood and moved away to their tents. Stealthily, she followed him to his tent, avoiding the other men. Her dark clothing blended in perfectly with the shadows, and her bright eyes were like twin stars in the sky.

_Perfect_, she thought, as he entered his tent near the edge of the camp. Some god was watching over her—and the young woman Akemi and her brother—tonight.

She waited for just a few moments before she struck. She hated striking an unarmed, sleeping man, no matter how despicable they were. She swiftly cut through the tent material and stood before him, waiting for him to at least draw his sword. He was surprised at first, but then he snarled and took up his sword.

He was as bad a fighter as the other man. But she still had to be clean. She flipped the knife on her left arm out as he lunged clumsily at her, blocking the katana with her small knife. _Fast. I need to be fast so no one wakes up_. Mieko frowned to herself. She wanted this man to suffer… but then, she wanted to protect herself as well.

The man brought his sword down as if to slice her in two, but she calmly reached up and stopped him barehanded. Twisting his wrists downward with her strong hands, she hissed, "You ruined more than one innocent life today. And for that, you will pay."

She forced him backwards then flung the knife in her left hand, letting it fly straight and true. It landed with the familiar squelch in the man's throat. She let him fall forward onto his tatami, then yanked the knife from his body. Without hesitation she wrapped his dead body in the tatami, careful to ensure that no blood escaped.

She carried her burden out into the night, darting into the forest to hide herself. She turned back towards the camp one last time.

_I'll be back for any more of you tomorrow_, she thought, amber eyes flaring like miniature suns in the moonlight.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Yay! You finally know all of the characters! beams proudly Like it so far??? I hope I didn't confuse too many people by using minor characters as the major characters in the fic! Oh, by the way, I made up the following: Inouya Tarou, Fujita Gorou (for my purposes, at least), Lord Kawami, Lord Nobori, Mieko, and the other random characters. PLEASE REVIEW—I'm desperate for encouragement and support! that implies no flames as well, although constructive criticism is welcome


	6. Chapter Five: Roads to Hanayama

Sagara turned and looked at the men behind him. Their mouths and eyes were set. They knew exactly what they had been asked to do.

He was surprised at how many men had volunteered to go along. Their hearts, their minds, their ideals called stronger than their pride and dignity.

"We'll have pride and dignity when the new era begins," one of the men told him. "Then, we can put the past, and what we did in it, behind us and look to the future. We will think only of how we helped bring in the new era, not what we did to bring it in."

"Sagara-san! Sagara-san!" a small voice called.

Sagara turned and watched as the boy ran up to him, tripping twice and scrambling back to his feet. He smiled down as the young boy, whose gi was now dirty at the knees, came alongside him.

"Good morning, Sano," Sagara said pleasantly.

"Ohaiyo!" Sano cried, smiling broadly. "Where are we going, Sagara-san?"

"To the mountains," Sagara answered simply. The village was called Hanayama, if his memory served him correctly.

"Ahhh! I've always wanted to see the mountains!"

"You'll get your chance. It won't be very much fun, though, once we get there."

"Of course not. The Sekihou has a job to do," Sano said simply, walking facing straight forward.

Sagara's eyes widened. He loved Sano as if he were his son—it was a strange, alien sort of feeling that Sagara was not used to. He'd given up "love" as an emotion when he left home (surrounded by bad feelings and disgrace, of course) and joined the Imperialist movement.

But then Sano had appeared in his life… and he'd adopted Sagara, instead of the other way around. That was what made Sagara most uncomfortable about what he did. Sano loved him, adored him, revered him. All the terrible things he'd done—and would do—in the name of 9-year-old Sano's future haunted him. _Sano shouldn't treat me like this. He should know all the terrible things I've done_.

"Sano," Sagara asked softly. "Why do you stay with the Sekihou?"

"Because of you," the little boy answered directly.

Sagara was silent. Finally, he said, "Sano, there are things I need to tell you…"

-------------

"There's been another strike."

"Really? Where?" Aoshi asked, brow furrowing slightly. He disliked being interrupted while writing, but this was important. He carefully laid the brush down against the ink bowl and waited for the rest of Hannya's report.

"In a little village called Hanayama. Nobody knows if it's the same assassin, though. Nobody saw the murders."

"Tell me what happened."

"Only two men were killed. The killings were clean, and the bodies were dumped in the forest. Both of the men were soldier-types. One was killed in his tent outside the village, the other was killed in some unknown location."

"What makes you think it was the same assassin?"

"Gut instinct, really. There was something mysterious about the whole thing… why only those two men? The killings were so silent, not even the men in the tents nearby heard one of the men die. And there are absolutely no clues as to where the other man came from. They were both exceptionally clean killings—no needless wounds or anything. They were beaten similar to our men—one by a martial artist, who slit the throat, and the other by a thrown knife, I think."

"What were these 'soldier-types' doing in Hanayama?"

"The Lord there—Lord Nobori—is gathering men dissatisfied with the Shogunate _and_ the proposed Meiji government. It's not clear what they'll be fighting for, but rumor has it they'll be fighting for Nobori and his ideas on government."

Aoshi snorted in a strangely delicate way. "And what does he know of government?"

Hannya shrugged. "I wouldn't know, but I'm guessing whatever he's saying appeals to everyone who's agreeing to fight."

Aoshi sighed. Hannya was like that sometimes… _If I want your opinion, Hannya, just give it to me. Don't sidestep the question and give me some asinine answer like that._

"Very well." Aoshi tapped his fingers against his finely shaped chin as he thought, and Hannya could not but notice again how handsome Aoshi was. _Sad,_ he thought to himself. _Now that he's Okashira, it's not likely he'll ever marry. A pity for the women of Japan_.

"Hannya, you take care of everything here. I'm going to Hanayama."

"Are you sure, Aoshi-sama?"

"Yes. I'll find out for myself who this assassin is. You've been of great help, Hannya. Consider this a break."

"Hai, Aoshi-sama."

----------------------

"Hanayama? I've never heard of it," Saitou said with a slight frown.

"How exciting, then!" Okita chirped. "Wouldn't you like to see someplace new? It's like a vacation!" Okita was practically dancing. Saitou smiled.

"For someone five years older than I am, you certainly don't act like it."

"You just don't know how to have fun, Saitou-san," Okita teased.

"When will you be leaving?"

"This afternoon, I think. It's not far from here, really, and the troop should hold up fine."

Saitou nodded. "Take care of yourself, Okita."

"Hai, hai Saitou-san! What shall we do until then?"

Saitou drew his sword and tested its edge with his right hand. "Practice?"

"Oh, Saitou!" Okita groaned. "Must you ruin my fun already? I don't _want_ to practice!"

"But you're so good," Saitou cajoled. "Besides, I'm not comfortable fighting your Tennen Rishi style yet."

"And I don't want you to become so," Okita pouted. "It means I won't be able to beat you anymore."

Saitou laughed aloud, causing Okita's eyes to widen in fear. "Saitou-san?"

"You would still be able to beat me, you know. You're the caption of the First Troop for a reason."

"Still," Okita sniffed. "I like my pride just like you."

"Very well. We won't practice. What shall we do instead?"

--------------------

Mieko yawned and uncurled herself from the branch where she'd been sleeping. Frowning, she dropped to the ground and sought out clean water. She wanted to clean the bloodstains from her clothes before she continued.

And a bath would be nice too.

She found the tiny little stream and sighed. Enough to wash her clothes, but probably not enough to bathe in. Oh well. Her vanity could wait another day. She stripped off the layer of black clothing, dumping the knives into a pile at her feet, and dunked it in the water, grimacing as the water turned pink. There wasn't a lot of blood, but enough to stain and smell.

When she was satisfied that the blood was out, she laid the clothes out to dry on a rock and lay in the grass. There were immediate concerns to be taken care of—food, a kimono, and news. The middle one would be the hardest. If she had any hope of blending in, she'd need women's clothing. But in a village this small, stealing (which was what she usually did) was virtually impossible.

To avoid the problem, she turned her thoughts to nourishment. She'd gone without food for two days before, so she wasn't overly worried. _But_, she thought wistfully, _I'd like to at least eat _something.

News… that she could _only_ get by going into the village and nosing around. People might talk freely, but she was more likely to hear the important stuff if she kept silent and stayed invisible.

Which required a full stomach and a kimono.

Groaning, Mieko rolled over onto her stomach and lay there, letting the morning sun warm her back. _Damn. Why does this have to be so hard?_

She resigned herself to the fact that she needed a kimono. Glancing up at the sky, she attempted to determine what time in the morning it was. The safest way to get a kimono, she decided, was to go back to her safe house and retrieve her own. Running back there didn't appeal to her, but getting caught and trapped appealed to her even less.

Definitely before noon. If I'm fast, I can make it back before the end of the day, and there might still be people around. Certainly, I'll make it back before the evening meal.

Resigned to running and remaining food-less, she picked up her damp clothes, bundled them up on her back, strapped the knives to her exposed body (making them less surprising, but equally as useful), and set off at a trot back towards the Kawami lands.

-----------------

Late in the afternoon, the Sekihou Army finally reached the mountains. Sagara called the men to a stop and organized a conference with the other captains—and Sano, who stayed stubbornly by his side.

"We're less than an hour from Hanayama. The scouts tell me we're out of sight of the army camp. I want to stop here and stay for the night."

The other men murmured their assent. "Good. Tell your men to set up camp."

As soon as they had gone, Sagara turned to Sano. "Sano…"

"Hai, Sagara-san?"

"I'm going out tonight. I want you to stay with the army."

"Of course, Sagara-san. I always do."

"I want you to stay… where you're safe."

Sano looked confused. "I can take care of myself, Sagara-san. You don't need to worry about me!"

"It's not that, Sano… I know you can take care of yourself, but… Listen, Sano," Sagara said, dropping to one knee before the boy. "You're like a son to me, and I just… I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if something happened to you. So just stay safe tonight," he said quickly, gently shoving Sano away.

Sano smiled at him and trotted away, grinning ear to ear. Sagara gave a little half-smile. It was the closest he could bring himself to saying how important Sano was to him—how much like the son Sagara would never have Sano was.

He shoved his hands into his pockets and slowly picked his way towards the makeshift camp. The wind caught his purple and red coat around his torso, and the red cloth holding his hair back whipped around his head. He glanced over his shoulder at the mountain looming in the background, and his eyes narrowed.

Hanayama. He would see this Nobori's army for himself tonight.

--------------------

Dusk was falling quickly, and Aoshi sensed he was still some ways away from the village. He grunted and hacked aside another branch with his kodachi. There was only a rough sort of track that lead anywhere close to Hanayama from Edo, and it apparently hadn't been used in years. He wished he had Hannya's skill, and could run quickly or use the trees instead of the ground.

Instead, he plodded forward for another hour, until the sun hung just above the horizon. Sighing heavily, thinking he would need to sleep in the woods tonight, and delay his arrival in Hanayama—and his chance to find the assassin—by a day, he finally broke through the foliage.

He was standing on a hill overlooking the small village. There were lights going on in the homes, inns, and restaurants as they prepared for the evening meal. From here, he could also see the lights of the army camp.

Aoshi looked down at himself, then brushed the leaves and dirt off his clothes. They were not so conspicuous that he couldn't pass as a normal traveler. He began to head down towards the village.

In just a few minutes he was there, and he began walking down the streets. The village was small and tight-knit. Everyone he passed knew he was an outsider, but they looked at him with something of fear in their eyes. Perhaps he looked too menacing. He glanced down at his clothes again. There was nothing he could do that would make him more friendly looking. Instead, he found his way to an inn and requested a room for the night. He might as well appear to be a normal passer-through.

He made his way up to his room and removed his outer garments, laying them neatly across the bed. Dressed only in the loose black uniform he usually wore, he sat down beside the window and lit the lamp. From the pocket of his wrap he pulled the thin packet of papers, brush, and ink that he carried with him.

It wasn't yet time for the evening meal. He'd go downstairs, and hear what he could hear, when the time came. Then he would wait to see if the assassin would strike. For now, he was content to lose himself in his writing. He carefully poured a small amount of prepared ink from the vial into the bowl, dipped his brush in, and began writing again.

-------------------

"How welcome will Shinsengumi be, if they say Nobori is in it for himself?" Saitou had asked before Okita left.

"Probably not very," Okita agreed.

"Split up once you get to the village," Saitou had suggested. "You may be more vulnerable in a fighting sense, but hopefully you won't be fighting."

Okita agreed—again—with Saitou. The younger man was oddly insightful sometimes. His troop this time was fairly small; it was, after all, only a scout troop of sorts. They were supposed to gather information, which was why they'd left their Shinsengumi uniforms back in Kyoto. They were dressed as normal, simple traveling merchants. They even had some cases of working medicines to make their disguise even better.

It was dark by the time they'd reached the outskirts of Hanayama. Okita paused, and let the other men gather around him.

"We'll split up now," he said. "Go in pairs. I'll go alone."

"Are you sure, Okita-san?" one of the men asked him.

He nodded confidently. "Of course. You all watch each other. I'll watch the enemy."

They parted ways when they reached buildings, waving and calling good-byes as if they were travelers who had met on the road. They could not—should not—all be in the same inn, if possible. Okita glanced around as he walked through the town; there were very few inns, he suspected.

He stopped at the first one he came into and stepped inside. It was time for the evening meal, and he was greeted by the smell of warm, fresh food. He smiled and requested a room and dinner. He then settled himself at a table near a wall and out of the way, and began listening to the conversations around him.

"Price of rice has gone up so much…"

"…taxes. All those damn taxes. Wish somebody would lower them…"

"Nobori's said that he told the Shogunate to lower rice taxes…"

"And then he takes everything we have to feed that damn army!"

"Be quiet! You don't know where those army men are!"

"…crushed Akeru's hand…"

"…haven't seen Akemi since then, poor thing…"

"Found him dead, did you hear?"

Okita's ears slowly absorbed everything, trying to piece together conversations and events. Slowly, a picture of Hanayama since Nobori had brought his army in emerged, and Okita became angry.

---------------

"Shit!" Mieko cursed aloud as she finally dropped to the ground in the forest outside Hanayama. Traveling in the day was nothing like traveling at night, and she'd been slower than anticipated. It was already dark, and the evening meal had probably already begun. Eyes narrowed, she tried to sort through her thoughts and figure out what to do next.

Taking deep breaths to calm herself, she donned her now-dry black clothing, then shrugged the kimono on over them. She wrapped the obi snugly around her waist, then restyled her hair in a more becoming fashion. Satisfied that she looked decidedly female, she slipped a pair of geta on and padded gently down into the village.

_Just go through the village like you planned. You just got in late, that's all. No need to worry so much._

She stepped carefully through the town, looking for a busy—but not too busy—inn where she could eat and gather news in an inconspicuous way. She was about to turn down a street leading to what she thought was right kind of inn when something flung itself at her feet from behind.

"Ara?!" she cried, turning to see what had attacked her, knife already in her right hand.

"Tasukete," a voice gasped weakly. Mieko's eyes widened in horror as she saw what clung to her feet.

A young woman, probably no older than Mieko, lay in the dirt. Her kimono was torn and bloody, her hair disheveled and wild. But it was her face that frightened and angered Mieko most. Her delicate features had been crushed—one eye was black, the other was puffy, her cheeks were bruised, her nose was broken. Mieko knelt down beside the girl to examine her injuries.

"Tasukete," the girl repeated, sobbing weakly. Mieko resisted the urge to lift the girl off the ground—she didn't know how badly, or where, the girl had been injured. Gingerly she pushed aside the kimono, and the girl cried out. Mieko bit the inside of her cheek hard to keep herself from crying out too. The girl's breasts were bruised, at least two ribs were broken. She'd been raped and beaten. The old, familiar anger surged in Mieko's breast. She half-stood, still leaning over so she could lift the girl off the ground and carry her to the nearest house.

"Stop!" a male voice cried, from down the street where this girl had come from.

Mieko looked up as an older man ran up. "Nani?" she asked impatiently. "I don't have time for stupidity."

"That girl must come with me," he said slowly, eyeing her.

"She'll die if you—" Mieko stopped, a vague realization dawning on her.

"She'll die anyway," he said, drawing his sword.

"No," Mieko said firmly, eyes, blazing. She stood over the poor girl's body and stared him down.

"She defied Lord Nobori. I have been ordered to kill her."

"_Look at her!_" Mieko snarled. "He _raped_ her…"

"If you do not move, I'll have to kill you too."

"Does it look like I'm going anywhere?" she said coldly, feeling the knives pressed against the inside of her wrists.

"Then you'll die," he answered simply, drawing his sword and charging.

Mieko gritted her teeth and waited for the perfect moment in the attack. Just before it landed she flipped out the knives on her arms and put them up to block. She shoved upwards, throwing him backwards. Her amber eyes narrowed dangerously as she watched him back away, startled.

"Didn't expect me to fight back?" she snapped, challenging him. "Not all women will bow meekly to men!" She took two steps forward, hoping to get him to charge her again.

"Then I'll show you where you belong!" he growled, raising his sword and running towards her.

With surprising swiftness in her kimono and geta, Mieko leapt backwards and to the side, drawing him away from the now unconscious girl and into a darker alley. Angrily, he prepared to charge her again, but she was tired of this. She needed to dispose of him and care for the girl. And she could not afford to get blood on this kimono.

Before he could even take a step forward, Mieko had flung the knife in her left hand, letting it bury itself in his throat. He gasped and fell forward, dying within a few moments. Carefully, she stepped around the blood and reached for her knife, careful to ensure that no blood touched her kimono sleeves or hem. Once retrieved, she slid it back into its strap between the layers of black cloth beneath her kimono.

She returned to the young woman and carefully cradled her against her body. As she carried her down the street to the inn, Mieko whispered a question in her ear.

"Did the Lord Nobori do this to you?"

"Hai," the girl's answer was barely perceptible. "They came for our food… they took everything… my father… couldn't fight… not strong enough… took my sister… told them to take me instead… then… this…" she managed, barely able to move her hands to gesture.

Once inside the inn Mieko tried to tend to the girl. She set the nose and ribs and rubbed balm over the bruises, but she could not stop the bleeding. Nobori had indeed hurt her… Mieko angrily brushed the tears away from her face as she watched the girl fade, the blood never ceasing to flow and stain her legs and the sheets.

"Arigatou," the girl whispered.

"Doshite?" Mieko asked angrily. "I cannot save you… you must know that."

"Hai. But… it is better than dying in the street, or in a corner or Nobori's room."

Mieko placed her hands, without a trace of blood, over the girl's. "You killed that man, didn't you?" she asked Mieko softly.

"Hai."

The girl said nothing more for nearly ten minutes, then she opened her eyes wide and looked at Mieko. "Arigatou, tomodachi."

"Sayonara, my sister."

Mieko went to the window and opened it wide, so that the light of the moon and stars illuminated the pale skin of the dead girl. She looked out it, searching for Lord Nobori's house. Her eyes narrowed when she saw it.

"Rest assured, Lord Nobori—I _will_ see you dead."

------------------

AUTHOR'S NOTE: To anyone who actually knows Japanese history, I'm sorry I've screwed with events and people and I acknowledge the fact. I have already been informed that Okita's symptoms are not obvious until after Ikeda-ya (which I did not know; I simply assumed that was when it became obvious to the Shinsengumi), and I have already altered the ages of Saitou and Aoshi to fit my desires (and the sequel to this story). Gomennasai!


	7. Chapter Six: Time to Fight

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Yes, I finally got over my Okita roadblock, and at long last the chapter is finished. Not that there are many out there who care, but I just thought you should know. 

I apologize in advance… I didn't mean for this chapter to get so long, it's just that once I got over the Okita roadblock and started making it more about Souzou and Sano that section got long, and then Mieko's section… I don't even know what happened with that, it just started and kept going and going and going… OMG on Word this thing is just over 13 pages long…

In other news, I'm looking for good Sano/Saitou fics, so if you know any, please tell me!

PLEASE if you have anything to say, SAY IT in a review! They're a) most helpful when they contain either encouragement or constructive criticism and b) they let me meet some really cool people (provided I don't know them already).

In case you don't know, I'm responding to reviews on my LJ (username FairyMage, or go to my profile for the URL) and I've responded to all reviews for this fic, from **Kireiko**, **Firuze Khanume**, **omasuoniwabanshi**, **Mischief1689**, **elinviel **(Sophie), **aznramaster **(Alex), and **Ayame aka Kaiba**.

And thank you **Mischief1689** for responding to me in your profile!

Chapter 6 

The half moon peeped over the mountain, alone in the cloudless sky. Bright stars—white, golden, blue, red—hung suspended in the dark sky. Sagara glanced out of his tent and sought out the lights of Hanayama. The moon was plenty bright enough to guide him there.

"I'm leaving, Sano. Remember what I told you," he warned the boy.

"Hai, Sagara-san!" Sano said, smiling broadly. Sagara half-smiled back at him and left the tent.

He set off at a brisk pace towards the village. The chill night air swept past him, whipping his clothes around him. He shivered slightly but pressed forward. He had to see this army that his own, admittedly pathetic one faced.

His brow furrowed as he thought. His men were ill-equipped and ill-trained for combat. That was not why they had rallied behind him or the Meiji government. They'd come because they'd been promised equality. They'd come because their families had been promised something better. They had not come to die.

And yet here they were, still with him, still loyal to him and their shared ideals. Sagara shook his head. _If only all men held their ideals so tightly!_ he thought sadly. Then the Sekihou would not be in this position. They would only be carrying out their job—to spread the news of equality to the people, and to tell them of the new policies of the Meiji that would make that equality reality.

He stopped thinking and brought himself back to the present when he saw the dim firelight. Cautiously, he pulled his sleeveless coat closer around him and hid the patterned inside. Everything else was dark, so he blended in fairly well. He got his bearings and began surveying what he could.

The army was larger than he had expected. He hadn't thought so many men would rally around a man like Nobori, but apparently he was mistaken. _This Nobori must promise great things, for so many men who, until now, had no loyalties, to come to him._

A sudden rustling in the bush caught Sagara by surprise, his hand slipping to one of the swords at his left hip. His eyes narrowed as someone clumsily came at him. _Who would be stupid enough… to make so much noise?_ His eyes widened in sudden realization.

"Sano!" he hissed. The movement stopped. "Sano, I know you're there," Sagara whispered sternly. "You'd best come out. I know you're there. No use in you getting hurt now." He shook his head ruefully. His intent to spy a little was ruined, but still… that boy was a handful, indeed.

Sano trudged over, head hung sadly. "I thought I told you to stay back at camp," Sagara admonished, sternly yet gently, kneeling before him.

"I didn't want you to be out by yourself, Captain," Sano mumbled.

"Well… Didn't I tell you I'd never be able to forgive myself if something happened to you? It would have been infinitely worse if _you_ had gotten hurt, Sano." Sagara stood as Sano's eyes widened. "Let's get back," Sagara suggested, placing his hand on Sano's back and steering him toward the Sekihou camp.

"How touching," a thin voice sneered from the shadows.

Faster than Sano had thought possible, Sagara had spun around and drawn one of his swords. His face was ashy pale as his dark eyes searched the shadows. He stood before the young boy, arms spread protectively.

"Leave him out of this," Sagara whispered, dangerously quiet.

"Captain!" Sano cried. "Lemme go!" he yelled, kicking wildly.

Sagara turned, eyes wild. A tall, muscular man held Sano off the ground by his arms. "Let him go!" Sagara ground out through gritted teeth. "This doesn't concern him! He's just a boy!"

"And you're both enemies," the first man pointed out. "And we're supposed to take intruders down to camp." A snap of his fingers produced more men out of the shadows.

_Two, three… six men. I can take six men if I fight with two katana._ Sagara reached for the other katana, drawing it as he spun. The force of his twist whipped the katana in his right hand around, making a neat, thin cut across one man's chest. Without a word, he lunged forward, both katana in a ready position.

He made a double cut across the front with both swords, cutting down the slower man in the process. Someone came at him from the right; the katana in the right hand met the staff with a dull thud. Forcing the staff upwards with his right hand, Sagara stabbed with the katana in the left hand. No time to think, though—another came at him from the left, this one a swordsman. Their blades met with a harsh ringing; Sagara, with two blades, had somewhat of an advantage.

He forced the other man back, then lunged forward with this right hand. He anticipated the block, then made a wide, sweeping cut with the katana in his left hand. _Only three left_. He spun to face the next opponent, but was stopped short.

"Take another swing with your katana, and the boy dies."

Sagara froze on the spot, his eyes locked with the man who held Sano. Sano, for once, was silent, sensing the gravity of the situation. He had never seen his Captain fight like that, with such rage and anger and force. He had never seen the dull fires burning deep in his eyes.

Slowly, Sagara stood from his lunging stance and lowered his swords, sheathing them with a quick motion. "Very well. Let him go now."

"What makes you think we'd do a stupid thing like that?" one man asked, clearly amused. Suddenly, Sagara felt the searing pain in the back of his head, and felt the world going dark…

"Captain!" Sano cried, as Sagara fell limply forward.

"Pick him up. Let's take them down to the camp."

After the evening meal Aoshi had retreated back to his room. The night was too young and the moon too bright for him to be truly comfortable going out. After two hours of quiet meditation and writing, he stood stiffly from the floor.

He picked up his black wrap, and slung it around his shoulders and neck. Then he gently pushed the shoji out of the way, and padded down the hallway. Certain no one had seen him, he silently left the inn and began walking through the village.

Hanayama looked deserted. Even this late at night—Aoshi judged it couldn't be later than midnight—there was usually someone awake, some tiny pinprick of light to indicate life. But here there was nothing. Even in a small village, Aoshi found this unusual, and frowned. These people really had been scared away by this Nobori and his men.

Right now, that didn't concern Aoshi overly much. Instead, he wandered through the shadows of the streets, trying to work out where the assassin might strike next. The village was too quiet, Aoshi decided quickly. The assassin would either strike out at other men of the camp, or at Lord Nobori himself in the manor.

_But why?_ That was what Aoshi could not get through his head. Why was this assassin striking here? And why at those two particular men who had been killed? What had they done? Surely this assassin was not aiming to destroy Nobori's army. If so, he would have at least tried to kill a leader of the army or Nobori himself.

_I'll take my chances at the army camp_, he thought to himself, strolling along down a street. He was in no particular hurry now that he'd made a decision.

The unmistakable feeling that he wasn't alone overtook him as he started down a short side street. He paused in the shadow of a building, trying to find the source of his uneasiness. _Someone's here_. His eyes darted upward without him moving his head; the light cast on his face might give him away. He saw nothing, and frowned.

He continued forward cautiously, until his feet hit something wet and slippery. Kneeling down in the darkness, he touched the ground and brought his fingers back up to his nose. The smell of blood was all too familiar. This blood… belonged to someone who had been taken away. The small puddle indicated they had lain there for some time, but the lack of a body or spread of the blood told Aoshi whoever the blood belonged to was not here anymore. And whoever had taken the body away had been very careful; there was not a spatter of blood to indicate where they might have gone.

Aoshi wrinkled his nose… there was another smell. This was blood also, but it was a different kind of blood. It was the smell of the blood of a man who died in battle, the terrible, foul, acrid smell of death. He sniffed the air, trying to trace the smell. Eyes narrowed, he turned down a small alley and nearly fell over the dead body.

_So. The assassin _did _strike again. I wonder why this man…?_ He knelt to inspect the body. Only one wound—a huge cut to the throat. The assassin had thrown the knife, from some distance, allowing it to be buried in the man's throat. Aoshi smiled a dangerous half-smile. He liked this assassin. He was clean and silent—just what the Oniwabanshu needed.

Right now, he was also concerned about the other body he knew had been here once. Aoshi glanced up and down the street, but there was no sign of life. No sign of where the person—or their rescuer—might have gone. He wondered if the assassin had saved the injured person, or if that person was why the assassin was in Hanayama. After all, he'd saved those Ishin Shishi, hadn't he?

Aoshi's shoulders tensed suddenly as he felt the presence return. Slowly, he stood and turned, rotating slowly so as to take in his surroundings.

_There. On the roof_. Aoshi's eyes narrowed to focus. _The assassin_.

The assassin did not notice Aoshi, crouched down near the ground initially. Instead, he darted over the roofs in a western direction—away from the army camp, and towards Nobori's manor. _So. That's who you're after. _After only a moment's hesitation, Aoshi took off silently on the ground after the assassin. He wanted to see this man in action.

They darted through the dark streets of Hanayama, two silent shadows in the night. They avoided moonlit patches of ground, fearful of its shimmering luminescence.

At last, Aoshi skidded to a stop. Nobori's manor towered before him. His eyes narrowed as he sought the dark figure of the assassin on the rooftops. He was crouched in the darkness, face turned toward the manor. Without warning—and certainly not a running start—he leapt across the wide street and landed on top of the wall surrounded Nobori's manor. Aoshi's eyes widened. This assassin was _good_. He had skills Aoshi didn't even think Hannya had mastered.

The assassin ran along the wall to get closer to the actual house, completely avoiding the guards at the front. _Good_, Aoshi thought. _Attract as little attention as possible._

Suddenly, a cry came out from below, behind the wall. "Look! Up there! Intruder!"

Aoshi watched in amazement as the assassin darted to a spot on the wall close to the house and leapt onto the roof. Though he tried to hide there, in the shadows, the moon's light illuminated nearly every inch. The familiar—and yet, long unheard—twang of arrows rang in the air. Aoshi looked around, confused. _Bowmen? Here?_ He saw them, posted in small guardrooms built onto the roof. _Not a good position for him to be in_.

The more frightening sound, however, came when gunshots rang out from below. _That_ was what Aoshi had both feared—and expected. The assassin was trapped, unable to find a way into the house without being picked off by either bowmen or gunmen. Right now, he was cowering in what was probably the one safe spot left. _If I know this assassin at all, he can probably take care of the bowmen on his own. I'll just need to take care of the gunmen. _Aoshi gritted his teeth. _I can't lose this assassin!_

With a yell he charged the now unguarded gate, roughly kicking it open. As the guards and gunmen turned to look, he hissed, "Deal with me, first."

To the assassin on the roof, he merely gave a look and a nod. The assassin seemed to take the hint, and silently left his hiding place to fight bowmen. Aoshi turned his attention back to the men before him.

With a small, sinister smile, Aoshi reached for the sheath at his side. The blade left it cleanly and with a satisfying hiss as he drew his kodachi. "Now, the battle begins."

The moonlight fell through the windows and paper screens to illuminate Okita's young face. He was restless, and could not sleep. He did not fear for himself; he was, after all, only a traveler. He was also Shinsengumi, and could defend himself if necessary. He feared, instead, for the village. Something was terribly wrong in this village. He suspected it was brought on by Nobori's taking over, and of his installing his army.

Silently he lay in the moonlight, waiting for something—anything—to happen. He got his wish sooner than he had expected.

He heard the running in the street below and leaned over to the window, peering out into the darkness. His ears strained to make out the words being said in the street…

"Over at that inn, by the end of town."

"Damn idiot, which end of town?"

"_That_ one!"

An exasperated sigh, followed by, "Just lead me there!"

"I _am_!"

Okita's ears perked up when he heard "inn." Otherwise, the whole thing would have been funny. His eyes narrowed uncertainly… where were his men staying? At inns… but which ones? He wished they'd taken Saitou's earlier advice and left signs for each other—especially for Okita, their captian.

Soundlessly Okita stood and touched the hilt of his katana for luck, then slid the shoji aside and padded down the hallway. As soon as he was outside, he broke into a light, easy run, trying to follow roughly the direction he thought the men had gone. He stopped when he saw the brightly lit inn with the two men standing at its door, and slipped around the corner of the building to listen.

"You, girl, tell me—are there any travelers staying here?"

"Why, yes, sir, but there are always travelers." Okita was surprised at the lack of fear in the girl's voice. It was an interesting—and ever so slightly discomforting—change.

"Tell me, my dear, did any of 'em just arrive today?" Okita could practically hear the girl purring in pleasure. He did not care what the man was doing to her—he just wanted to know if she would betray his men, and if they knew they would be betrayed. Who else could these men be looking for?

"Well, there were several. Why do you ask after them? Shall I wake them for you?"

"Word has it that Nakamura found a couple spies out on the outskirts of camp. We think there might be more of 'em, and we're supposed to find 'em and take 'em back to camp. It would be… delightful if you would wake them for us."

"I don't think they're the men you're looking for… you know, they just arrived today, and they sold the inn some medicine."

"Spies travel under all kinds of disguises."

The girl giggled softly, and Okita clenched his teeth. He rarely swore, but right now… _Damn this girl!_

"Of course they do. That's why I took the liberty of drugging them with their own medicine." Gasps from the two men, and the girl laughed. She was clearly quite pleased with herself. Okita was disappointed in his men, but not entirely surprised. When traveling under the guise of doctors and street-sellers… what could one do, but act normally? "Are you going to reward me?" the girl asked, simpering.

"Of course, of course my koneko. Now, where are they?"

"Oh, you're going to love me even more. I already had them picked up."

Loud laughter followed, that made Okita's stomach turn. If his men were already gone… "You're quite a woman! All right, I'll make my report to camp and be back for you." The shoji closed, and footsteps hurried off down the street towards the army camp.

Okita sighed and silently followed them. He had no choice now. He could warn the other men, but if these two (and he didn't even know which two) had already been captured, Okita was fairly certain the others had not fared much better. Besides, he had a duty to these two men. It was partially his fault that they had been captured, after all.

He paused just beyond the line of tents that signaled the beginning of the army camp, and looked back towards Hanayama. He could feel the darkness in the air—it saturated it, and was heavy with it. He shuddered slightly, and continued forward.

_Who were these spies, anyway?_ he thought to himself. They were the reason his men had been captured in the first place… _I hope Hijikata is not angry. These spies ruined the Shinsengumi plan._

The camp felt largely deserted on the outskirts, but as Okita neared the center he heard the dim roar of voices and the sharp crackle of a fire. His brow furrowed as he came to the final row of tents, the row closest to the center. He paused alongside one, making sure to stay well in the shadows and well away from the men walking by. He peered around the edge, trying to catch a glimpse of what was going on without being seen.

"Let me go!" he heard, and his eyes widened. That was no man's voice—that voice was so young… just a boy…

Without thinking or realizing it, Okita's grip on his katana tightened. He strained his eyes to see where the young, helpless voice was coming from. The boy's pleas were followed by coarse laughter.

"No!" the boy shouted. There was anger in the voice… Okita could detect the bitterness and helpless fury in the young cries, and his grip on his katana tightened.

A groan escaped from someone, and Okita swore mentally. He couldn't see anything… there were too many men standing before him, too many men who could catch him. Frustrated, Okita clenched his teeth and resolved to stay put and listen.

"You're awake!" the boy cried happily.

"Sano?" a young, male voice asked groggily. "Sano?" he asked again, the urgency in his voice evident. "Leave him out of this," he pleaded weakly, to anyone who might listen or care.

Like Okita, who lay hidden in the shadows, waiting for his chance to step into the firelight. _I will not let anything happen to the boy_, he promised the other man mentally. He'd come here to protect and save his men. As much as he still desired to do so, the desire to protect this young life called even stronger.

Suddenly, the men seemed to melt away from the boy and the young man, leaving just enough room for Okita to peer through legs and arms to see what was happening. His eyes narrowed, and his teeth clenched again. The boy was crouched in a fighting position on the ground, kneeling before a bound and beaten young man. Okita guessed the boy couldn't be much more than ten, and the man not much older than Okita himself.

_So._ This was the evil he'd felt, then…

The men parted at a point to permit another, taller, muscular man to pass through. Whispers ran through the circle of soldiers, and dread grew in the pit of Okita's stomach.

"So. _This_ is what Nakamura brings me. Not even worth my time," he snorted.

"Let… him… go," the young man gasped weakly. The fighter only ignored his plea and kicked him hard in the ribs. Okita winced as the man cried out and groaned, half expecting him to cough blood. The boy turned to him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Untie him," the fighter ordered. Two men pulled themselves away from the group to unbind the young man. They completed their task, and melted back into the horde. The young man agonizingly drew himself up to his knees, hands braced against the ground to support himself. Okita could see how pained his movements were, and didn't doubt that he'd been thoroughly beaten as he lay captive.

"If nothing else, you'll die in a fight. We don't like to just… kill. Seems so useless. And hey, if you give me a good fight, the runt might live."

Okita could see the young man's fists clench, and he struggled to stand. As he turned his head in an attempt to face his attacker, Okita caught sight of his face. It was young, handsome, and in his eyes fires burned. The dark brown depths were lit by the blaze, and Okita knew that his spirit burned for the boy.

"No." The declaration came from the boy, who moved to stand before the young man, between him and the fighter.

"Sano—" the man cried softly, nearly collapsing back to the ground.

"I'll fight instead. It's not fair. You kicked him, punched him while he was unconscious. You expect him to fight with his fists when you know he's a swordsman. That's cheating."

Rough laughter erupted from the men, and Okita felt his blood boil. This boy…

"All right, runt. I'll take you on." To the young man, lying prone on the ground and close to tears, he spat, "I'll come back for you after I crush your little friend here."

"Sano…"

"It's okay, captain. It's my fault we're here. I won't let you die without a fight."

"In that case, at least let it be a fair fight," Okita said, moving into the light cast by the fire so that all could see him.

Mieko was thankful to the swordsman who had come to her aid; it seemed he had saved her from the gunmen at least. Now all she had to deal with were the bowmen, and they were too easy. As long as she kept moving quickly (which she was very good at), she could pick them off with her skills and knives easily.

When all the bowmen were gone she peeped over the edge to see how the swordsman fared. She noticed his great height and agility, though he was not nearly as agile as she was. She was particularly interested that he didn't fight with a usual katana—he fought instead with what looked like a wakizashi. And he was good, to top it off.

Smiling to herself, she hoped she would someday meet this swordsman. For now, she would content herself with completing what she had come to do.

She slipped into one of the bowmen's hiding places and kicked the trapdoor open, dropping into the hallway below. Her muscles tensed momentarily, anticipating an attack. If the manor had been alerted to her—and the swordsman's—presence, then surely there would be guards waiting at all feasible entrances.

Nothing happened, and Mieko relaxed considerably. She always did her job better when she was relaxed.

With hardly any hesitation she took off down the hallway to her left. If she was wrong, so be it. She felt confident that she could simply backtrack and try the other half of the hallway. As she trotted along, she became acutely aware of the silence she faced. Rather than make her uncomfortable, she embraced it. It made life so much easier when she knew no one could catch her.

_I was right_, she thought, quite pleased with herself, as she stopped before the main bedroom of the manor. She readjusted her hair, knives, and face cloth before pushing the shoji open.

She crouched down just inside the shoji, startled by the bright moonlight. It hadn't seemed nearly this bright at the inn… Frowning, she stood slowly and crept along the wall towards the interior rooms. Nobori was a warlord, not foolish enough to sleep in the room immediately beside the door leading to the hallway.

Mieko nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard the pounding footsteps in the hall. Quickly, she darted into the next room and cowered in a corner, praying that she would not be seen.

"Nobori-dono!" a male voice cried from the other side of the shoji. Mieko looked towards the interior rooms, waiting for a response from the lord.

"Nani? Who's there?" the expected reply came. Mieko let out a small sigh of relief. The voice was not coming from the room she was in. It was too far away—and just barely muffled by another shoji.

"Nobori-dono! There's been some commotion down at the camp… Apparently, Nakamura-san caught two spies just outside the camp this evening. They'll be finishing them off tonight. They've already combed the village, looking for anymore. As much information as possible will be extracted from them."

"Good, good," Nobori muttered as he stumbled through the rooms to let his guest in.

"Ah, there's something else you should know, Nobori-dono," the young man who'd been let in said nervously, wringing his hands.

"And what's that?" the lord asked, in an obnoxiously haughty way.

"The manor's under attack," the man answered meekly. Nobori made no response; only his eyes conveyed any emotion. "There was a swordsman…" the man stammered weakly. "Took out all the gunmen and all the gate guards. I don't know… about the bowmen…"

Mieko tsked her tongue to herself. This was so poorly organized. They didn't seem to even know that she was there. And what had happened to the swordsman?

"All of the servants, slaves, and women have fled," the man continued.

"No one was killed?"

"No. The swordsman just let them pass him, right under his nose." That was curious to Mieko too. Why let them all go? She was beginning to respect this swordsman more and more.

"Where is he now?" Nobori demanded.

"Out in the courtyard. None of us dare do anything… He's too good!"

"How many men are left?"

"About twenty, all of us guarding the main door." Mieko sighed to herself. Guarding the main door, and he didn't even know that there was an assassin on the roof…

"Good," Nobori murmured, a plan apparently already forming. "Send a man out through the secret exit to get to the camp. Order a small force of the best fighters. I want this swordsman dealt with, and soon."

"Hai, Nobori-dono. Is there anything else?"

"No. Just make sure no one else gets in. Have you checked the roof entrances?" Mieko flinched unconsciously. _Uh-oh…_

"Roof entrances?"

Nobori was silent, shock and confusion written all over his face. Mieko almost felt sorry for the poor boy, who was standing, trembling before the lord.

"Yes… the roof entrances. The trapdoors in the rooms the archers are usually in."

"Archers?" the boy was practically shivering, quailing before Nobori's growing anger. "I don't think anyone's checked those…"

"Then get them checked," Nobori said calmly. _Too calmly_, Mieko thought to herself. It frightened her, that cold, calculating calm that had come over his face. She knew that kind of calm all too well…

"Y… yes, Lord Nobori. Immediately." The boy turned to scurry out the door, but Nobori stopped him.

"Come here," he ordered in that cold, dead voice. Mieko shivered in her corner. In anticipation, she loosened the knives against her wrists and untangled her legs, trying to get full circulation. No point in fighting unprepared.

The boy tentatively moved back towards the lord; Mieko could sense his fear. Now that she had a relatively clear view, she saw that he was young—probably not much older than she was. Before he had taken more than five steps, Nobori had shot forward and landed a punch across the boy's face. Mieko stifled a gasp with her left hand, clenching her teeth and shutting her eyes.

She could not watch as Nobori beat the young man. Her fists clenched and unclenched at her sides, her teeth bit down on her lower lip until they drew blood, her eyes were shut so tight she began to see white spots on the back of her eyelids. All the while, she could hear the boy whimpering, pleading, crying out for mercy.

Finally, the noise stopped, and there was only the young man's heavy breathing.

"Now go back to the others," Nobori said calmly. "And tell them to check the roof entrances—as they should have done the first time."

Mieko heard the boy stagger to his feet, then shuffle quickly out of the room. There was no sound from Nobori. She slowly opened her eyes, one at a time, and blinked to clear and readjust them. She saw Nobori, standing in the middle of the first room, his fist covered in blood.

There were only a few moments… She swallowed hard, forcing herself to calm down. She took several soft, deep breaths to calm herself. At last, something other than fear took over her. The fear drained away from her blood, leaving anger and fury in its wake. Her eyes narrowed dangerously, the amber pupils sparking in the darkness. She drew her knees towards her and stood, fists tight and ready. She stalked to the doorway, and stood in it, facing Nobori's back.

"You," she hissed.

He turned, almost nonchalantly, and gazed at her with penetrating black eyes. "So. Someone did get in through the roof, did they?"

Mieko did not rise to the bait and answer. Instead, she assumed a fighting stance and faced Nobori squarely in the eyes.

"After beating that defenseless boy, and the young woman who died in my arms tonight, and the countless others you've hurt by bringing your army here—surely you can face me."

Nobori grinned slyly, and also assumed a fighter's stance. "Very well."

As they began circling each other slowly, he asked her, "I assume you're the one who had the swordsman attack?"

"Actually, no. He came on his own. I intended to—and did—come alone—and just for you."

"Heh. Well. It seems you two have done a good job dismantling my defense."

"It looks like you've done a good job at destroying this village," she snapped back, eyes never leaving his chest. The muscles there gave her the best indication of where he would move.

Nobori did not respond with words, but with his fists. He lunged for her, punching in rapid succession. Mieko's eyes widened—he was quite skilled—but she never lost a beat. She leapt nimbly out of the way and then kicked upward to block the next punch. They stood there, frozen in that position, for what seemed like minutes. At last, with a yell, Nobori jumped backwards and drew his sword.

_Where the hell did that come from? _Mieko thought, almost frantically, as she dodged the swinging blade. She'd fought bad swordsmen, certainly, but she had no doubt that Nobori was not one of them.

The more she dodged, the more aggressive he became. He knew he had her trapped. If she could not fight in the range of her arms and legs, then he controlled the fight. She was no swordsman, and he knew it. She felt the heavy weight of the sword down her back acutely now, but could not draw it. He gave her no time.

But the more aggressive Nobori became and the more defensive she was forced to be, the more frustrated she became. She _hated_ being caught in a trap, or an endless cycle that she could not break. At last, her temper snapped, and she lunged forward with a sharp cry. Ignoring the pain as Nobori's sword cut across her left forearm, she kicked hard and latched her fingers around his neck.

He looked surprised, then shocked, as she began pressing in on the esophagus. His left hand came up to meet hers, and he struggled to detach her. But her eyes burned with a fire that he had never seen before, a fire that not even death could extinguish. His sword came down in an attempt to cut her away, but she caught his wrist with her left hand and twisted hard. The sword dropped heavily to the ground, and she went back to crushing the air out of his throat.

His hands grappled with hers, straining to peel her fingers away. Stubbornly, she stayed locked on. Finally, as her arms grew tired and she realized she could not kill him this way, she reached down for the knife stashed against her breastbone and stabbed him, leaping away to avoid the blood.

She turned away, not wanting to watch his final death throes. It always seemed odd that she, killer by trade and nature, should hate death so much, but she did. Perhaps it was because she ultimately feared death so much…

Mieko strode into the last room and pushed aside the window screen. The cool, crisp night air washed over her, trying to comfort her. Even the moon had dimmed its light for her, hiding behind a bank of clouds. As she perched herself on the edge, readying herself to jump down, she heard a voice from below her.

"Finish your job?"

She gazed back impassively at the swordsman, lounging against the wall beneath her.

"Apparently there's something going on down at the camp. Spies, I hear. Any reason why you would need to be there?"

She didn't respond. The sound and pitch of her voice could easily identify her as female, something she'd been extra careful to hide. Instead, she leapt down, landing at his feet. Without looking at him, she stood, brushed off her hands, and set off for the army camp.

Mieko heard him snicker softly, then his footsteps gently following her.


	8. Chapter Seven: Lights in the Dark

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This chapter has left me thoroughly exhausted. I hit roadblocks with Aoshi and Okita's sections, but finished Souzou and Mieko's in less than a day, respectively. What! 

Nevertheless, Chapter 7 is here and I'd like to know what you think. **PLEASE** leave me a review if you have anything to say. I noticed I got ZERO reviews for my last chapter, and it's rather discouraging. I don't see a point in proofreading and formatting and uploading for me to look at, when I can just as easily do that on my computer. I'll make the same threat I made in my YGO fic: **No reviews, NO STORY**.

Also, I don't know what's up with QuickEdit, but I can't do anything for a section break except what I have here. It looks weird, and I don't like it, but QuickEdit wins again.

Chapter 7

Sagara's eyes widened as the man stepped forward from the shadows. The throbbing pain in his abdomen, and the debilitating cuts on his arms kept him down, but he raised his head to look into the man's eyes.

_Please protect Sano_, he begged mentally, praying that his eyes could convey what he could not.

The man seemed to understand, for he nodded to Sagara and motioned him to lie down again. Relieved, Sagara allowed his body to collapse beneath him. Blood had begun to flow from the agitated wounds on his arms. Grimacing, he used his coat to try to stop it. _Sano wasn't kidding when he said it wouldn't be fair_. They'd ensured that he couldn't fight with either sword or fist.

"Sano," he whispered, reaching out to grab the boy's gi. He winced as pain shot up his right arm, but he yanked Sano back towards him and tried to shield him with his body, wrapping him in his arms. _Not that it's very much protection_, he thought wryly, looking down at his battered body. He _might_ be able to fight—but it would be asking a lot of his damaged shell. "Stay here, okay?" Sano nodded mutely, and Sagara turned his attention back to the newcomer.

"This should be a fair fight," he repeated, striding forward to face the fighter. Sagara frowned. This man… was small, slim, almost feminine in appearance—and, judging from the katana at his waist, clearly a swordsman. Surely… he wasn't proposing a brawl with this man?

"In light of that, I should like to request a fight with your best swordsman," he continued, idly fingering the hilt of his katana. Sagara breathed a soft sigh of relief.

The fighter snickered, then laughed aloud. He was about to speak when a voice from Sagara's left spoke up. "Let me fight him."

"Ah, Yoshiko-san. Are you sure?"

"Quite. I haven't had a good fight since we got here."

"What if I'm not a good fight?" the newcomer asked nonchalantly, though Sagara saw his eyes were hard as flint.

Yoshiko shrugged. "Then you're not a good fight. It won't make much of a difference. If you're fool enough to challenge us, then you're worth taking on."

"Very well," the man said, assuming an opening stance at one end of the rough circle formed by the army men. "Let's go."

"So eager to fight," Yoshiko murmured, hefting his own sheath-less sword in his right hand.

"If you're cruel enough to considering killing these two—one of them just a boy—then I should crush you immediately."

Yoshiko snorted. "Try it."

Sagara glanced down at the challenger, trying to gauge his skill. The man was young—probably younger than himself—yet his eyes were still cold and hard. A slight smile seemed to be playing at the corners of his mouth. Sagara noted with some surprise that he had not drawn his katana yet. Perhaps his style was one that utilized a swift opening draw, like Battoujutsu.

"Normally, I am polite to my opponents. I let them die with honor. You, however, deserve no such pleasantries."

"Shut up and let's go. Draw your sword."

"I don't need to start with my sword drawn to defeat you."

"Then die!" Yoshiko cried, running towards the man, a long downward slash clearly shown by the sword raised over his head. _A mistake_, Sagara thought. _A man _that _confident usually isn't bluffing. He can read this Yoshiko's moves without any effort. Even _I _can read them._

As Sagara expected, the man watched Yoshiko charge him until just before the strike should have hit, then with one quick, fluid motion drew his sword in an upward direction. The two blades met with a sharp hiss and Yoshiko's blade slid off the other man's.

"Your moves are too easy to read. It will be too easy to defeat you," he said quietly, assuming a new ready stance, sword in hand. The blade was held flat to the ground—a parallel strike. Sagara frowned suddenly. He remembered hearing about this technique from someone…

His thoughts were interrupted by a yell from the man as he lunged for Yoshiko. The blade flashed briefly in the firelight as he made three rapid cuts that should have cleaved Yoshiko in half. Shock registered on the man's face, but disappeared quickly, as he saw that Yoshiko was still standing, unharmed. Yoshiko in turn brought his sword back to his hip, then charged. Sagara sensed this charge was different—it wasn't as obvious, as reckless as the first.

A clang as the blades met—the man had blocked Yoshiko's strike, but just barely. "So. A user of Jigen-Ryu?" he asked Yoshiko shortly. "The first strike was just to test my strength."

"Hai."

"What's the user of such a style doing _here_? Surely the Shinsengumi, or the Ishin Shishi, would have sought your membership. Jigen-Ryu is an ancient and powerful sword style—and any wielder with any skill would be very, very useful."

"None of your business."

"Very well. Jigen-Ryu can only be defeated by a few styles. One of them, I know, is Hiten Mitsurugi-Ryu, the style of the famed Hitokiri Battousai. But another," he hissed, eyes hardening again, "will be my own—Tennen Rishi."

Sagara could hardly keep track of the fight, as the two lunged for each other. Over and over the swords crossed and uncrossed, the two men leaping in their dangerous dance. They were fast fighters—Yoshiko's Jigen-Ryu depended on power, but the other man's Tennen Rishi depended on speed. Yoshiko was forced into speed by the other man.

Finally, there was a loud yell as the man lunged forward, his blade flat and arm outstretched. The tip of his sword buried itself in Yoshiko's chest. Sagara turned away, covering Sano with his body, leaning Sano's face into his chest. This wasn't for Sano to see…

Sagara heard the gasps and murmurs around the circle, muscles tensing as he heard them turn into darker mutterings. The man sheathed his sword and came over. Sagara turned just enough to see his face.

"Thank you," he whispered.

"No thanks necessary. I could not let anything happen to the boy." The other man's eyes had softened, and he smiled happily at Sagara.

"Come. I think it's time we left this place." He held out a hand to help Sagara up. Gratefully, Sagara took the outstretched hand and weakly stood, pulling Sano with him.

"Don't you dare leave me," he hissed at the boy, and Sano nodded, clinging to his captain. Sagara finally managed to stand, finding himself half a head taller than his rescuer. Slowly, they both turned to face the now darkly angry circle of men.

"On second thought," the young man said, smiling sheepishly. "We may not be able to go just yet." Sagara was slightly surprised by the man's seeming good humor, but brushed it off. There were more important things just now…

"Can you fight?" he asked curiously. "I highly doubt it, from those charming gashes on your arms."

"Maybe. If necessary," Sagara muttered, wincing at the pain in his arms. He fumbled for the twin katana at his waist, sighing in relief when he found them still there.

"Good, good," the young man replied, thinking. "All right. You and the boy stay there for a bit, and I'll fight. When you see a good opening, run for it."

"What kind of idiotic plan is that?" Sagara hissed. "I watched you fight. You're good—_very_ good, I might add—but your Tennen Rishi is not meant to take on more than, say, six men. In fact, I imagine it's meant to be a one-on-one technique. You'll die facing that many men."

"Ah, so you are somewhat proficient at swordsmanship."

Sagara growled. "We can discuss the details of our training later. For now, we need a way to stall at least a hundred angry, fighting men." He was used to directing groups of people, not just two men (one of whom could hardly hold a sword) and a 9-year-old boy.

"Have you any proposals better than mine?" the other man asked, suddenly cold. Sagara shook his head sadly. "Then that is the way it will be done." He turned away from Sagara and assumed his opening stance, a challenge to any of the men facing him.

"No," Sagara said quietly. "I won't let you die like that."

"You fool!" he hissed. "The boy needs you. You need the boy. Or rather, you want to protect the boy from all things. I saw you shield him from death. What is he, your son?"

"No. But…"

"He's as good as one," the other man finished for Sagara. "I cannot allow that to die beneath my gaze. While I stand, and while I wield this katana with Tennen Rishi, the innocent will not die, and evil will." Sagara's eyes widened, but he did not back down.

"Then I will help you fight, until Sano and I can escape. And you're coming with us," he added, drawing both his katana and standing beside the other man.

"And what of the boy?"

"Sano," Sagara directed. "Stay behind us, and don't let anyone sneak up on you. Got it?"

"Yes sir, Captain!"

"Good," Sagara said, with a flicker of a smile. He turned to the man beside him. "What now?"

"I see I have no choice. We wait for them to attack."

A vicious yell brought Sagara's attention back to the front. He brought his two katana forward, prepared to meet the five men who rushed at him.

* * *

The two sets of feet moved swiftly in the darkness, but Aoshi's footsteps pounded in his ears. The assassin was silent, moving stealthily and lightly over the ground. He knew where he was going; Aoshi needed only to follow.

They paused together at the edge of the camp.

"I feel evil. Can you?" he asked quietly. As expected, the assassin did not respond. "I feel… dark, angry ki. There is fighting. Shall we go?"

Without a word the assassin lowered his head and moved forward.

"I live for the battle," Aoshi murmured to himself, hurrying after. "This feels like a good one." Something was nagging at the back of his mind, some little part of him that disagreed with his initial comment… Hurriedly, Aoshi pushed it below the surface of consciousness. Nothing could distract him now.

They ran through the camp, over the hard-packed earth, dodging the patches of bright moonlight. At last, they came upon the edge of an angry, swirling, fighting mob. Aoshi craned his neck to see over the men, and turned to his silent companion.

"Looks like a couple fighters could use our help."

The assassin turned bright, inquisitive amber eyes on him. "Look, I'm assuming you want to help Nobori's army about as much as you wanted to help him. So why not take out what we can, when we can?" The golden eyes narrowed dangerously, suspiciously. Aoshi was curious as to why he would not want to fight these men. How were they different from Lord Nobori, or the other men he'd killed?

"Fine. I'll fight through these men until we can find out who their 'spies' are. Then, if you see fit to protect them, you can join in. Agreed?"

The assassin said nothing, only merged silently back into the shadows. With that settled, Aoshi turned back to the raging mob. He himself was curious as to the identity of these spies. They were not Oniwabanshu, but they might be Ishin Shishi or Shinsengumi.

He gritted his teeth, wishing that he had Hannya or the assassin's skill at jumping. Then he could simply bypass all these other fools… Instead, he drew his kodachi, allowing the blade to flash mercilessly in the moonlight, intending it to draw attention to him. A few men saw and turned to look.

"Hey, look! Think he's with 'em?" one of the men yelled to his comrades.

"No time like the present to find out," another said, lunging with raised fist for Aoshi.

"I don't have time to waste on you," Aoshi said coldly, bringing the kodachi down.

As he fought his way through the men, he felt the cold heavy numbness come over him. He struggled to fight it off. _It shouldn't be like this…_ he thought, barely dodging an attack. _There has to be, there should be, a reason…_ But as he fought with himself, he lost ground against the other men he was fighting. He swore loudly as a katana cut down across his left wrist, and he just barely avoided being cut in two by an axe.

Aoshi shook his head violently to clear his thoughts. When he raised his face again, his eyes were cold, dark, and distant. They were depthless, endless seas of black, in which one could become lost forever—just as Aoshi himself had drowned.

With a soft snigger he brought his kodachi up fast, cutting a man down from groin to throat. He didn't budge as the hot blood spilled over him. Wordlessly he swung the kodachi to his left, then right, slicing across two men. He began walking confidently, ruthlessly towards the center of the action. As men came at him he simply flicked his wrist, cutting them down like saplings.

This was the true power of the Oniwabanshu Okashira… the cold, emotionless hell he put himself through for the sake of his country, the Shogun, and his comrades. There was no match for it in this rabble.

Finally, he'd cleared a path to the heart of the fighting. Two men, one of them badly wounded, the other only slightly so, were trying to hold off all the other men. There was essentially no escape for them, Aoshi saw. One of the men turned to look him in the eye.

"Here to fight me?" he asked quietly, raising his katana into a parallel position. Aoshi's eyes widened.

_Shinsengumi, _he thought to himself. But really, it made so little difference now… if he could have a good fight, he would even fight for the Imperialists.

"No," he answered quietly. "I'm here to fight _for_ you." He moved to stand between the two men, and held his kodachi ready.

"You fight with kodachi?" the man to his left, the more heavily injured and taller man, asked.

"Yes. It is my weapon of choice."

"I would've thought a man with your height would prefer a katana, something more suitable to your reach."

Aoshi shrugged. "The kodachi is less weight to carry, and allows for easier movement. Are we just going to stand around?" he asked snippily to the men facing him.

He lunged forward to meet the men who rushed him, blood pounding through his veins. His mind was empty, thinking only of his opponent's moves, working only to read the paths of their attacks. His short, sturdy kodachi took down men easily. His fluidity was beautiful in its grace, but frightening in its strength. He hardly even remembered the assassin, hidden in the shadows until an opportune moment.

He simply fought.

Suddenly, he was snapped out of his mechanical movements by a sharp cry behind him. As he turned to look, he saw the taller man double over as his knees buckled beneath him. The other, younger, more feminine man with the parallel thrust darted over to guard him. Aoshi noted that he now had new wounds, especially a large one on his left shoulder. He couldn't even gauge the severity of the other man's wounds.

His eyes widened, and he stopped what he was doing, lowering his kodachi. _Help…_ his mind whispered to him. _They need your help._

Slowly, Aoshi walked back to the other two men. Time seemed frozen—no man moved to strike him, he could see them fighting but they did not fight him… At last, he stood beside the man on the ground and raised his kodachi.

_Raise your sword to protect_, his mind chided. _Look behind you again. See what it is you are protecting_.

Out of the corner of his eye, Aoshi saw the Shinsengumi swordsman never falter. His cuts were still swift and true, even though he was injured. _He is fighting for something more than himself_, Aoshi noted dully. _And so is this other man_… He turned to look.

"Captain," a soft, young voice whispered, and Aoshi felt all his mental barriers break.

A young boy knelt beside the fallen man, arm protectively around his shoulders. The man struggled to stand, but fell again to his knees. "No, Sano…" he managed to gasp. "Stay down. Stay low. Just like I told you."

"But… you're hurt…"

"I've been through worse. Now stay!" he ordered gruffly, grabbing the boy and pulling him protectively against his chest.

The Shinsengumi swordsman turned to look at them. "While I'm down, I can't help you," the man on the ground said softly. "I'm sorry…"

"Don't be," Aoshi heard himself saying. "Just protect the kid."

As they resumed fighting, the Shinsengumi man turned to Aoshi. "I think I might be able to find help… I came here with others, and I think they may be in this camp somewhere, if I could only find them…"

"I can hold them off," Aoshi answered shortly. He knew it to be true—at least, he thought so. But ever since he'd begun to fight protectively, rather than offensively, he'd felt the shift in tempo. His moves were slower now, his strikes less powerful. His mind was fraught with things other than his fighting ki… _Can I really hold them off, at this rate?_ He knew that if he pushed his protective desires aside, he could easily take down these men. But that would leave the two behind him exposed, so he wouldn't really be protecting them anymore…

"I can," he repeated firmly. _Repeat it enough, and you'll believe it, _he reminded himself. And if this man really _was_ Shinsengumi, and had come with others, they would be out of this mess quickly.

The other man nodded. "I'll be back as soon as I can," he said, shooting away from them. His sword pierced a tunnel through the throngs of men, and soon, Aoshi couldn't see his retreating back.

Aoshi raised his kodachi yet again, prepared for the next wave of attacks. His hand was shaking—visibly—and the men took advantage of that. They lunged for him—all of them, it seemed—swords, fists, scythes, axes raised together against him. He couldn't pick out an enemy to fight… _No. NO. FIGHT! _ His brain was screaming, but his body refused to obey.

Suddenly, a dark blur shot out in front of Aoshi, metal flashing in the moonlight. The surge of men ceased, and before Aoshi, crouched in a fighting position, knife ready in his right hand, was the assassin.

* * *

Okita sped around tents, narrowly avoiding men and cutting them down when he had to. The wound in his left shoulder needed tending to—but there was nothing he could do now. He frowned heavily as he ran. That other man… the one with the boy needed tending too, more than Okita. Hopefully he could find his men quickly and bring them to the aid of the other two. 

He'd struggled with the decision as he stood there protectively. The boy (because that was what he was, Okita had seen, probably not older than 16) was good, _very_ good, but something had changed. He'd lost confidence, and his moves had become less certain and deadly. And the man was hardly able to fight _and_ protect the child at the same time. Okita had debated for many seconds as he fought, whether he could leave them alone to fight for that long.

But eventually, the hope of Shinsengumi help had called louder. He hadn't been able to hold off all the men on his own… the Shinsengumi were known for their skill as individuals, but, as the man had noted, Okita's Tennen Rishi wasn't designed to take on more than a few men at a time.

As he darted through the tents his eyes sought out his fellow Shinsengumi. He had to make sure they were at least safe. They were his responsibility, after all… their lives rested not only on their swords, but his as well.

Suddenly, he came upon a group of soldiers guarding a tent. He knew, without a doubt, what they were guarding. Slowly, step by step, he emerged from the shadows to face the men. He could feel his blood dripping out of his wounds slowly, and made a mental note not to slip in his own blood.

"Is what you're guarding worth it?" he asked quietly. Really, he didn't want to kill these men, but he would if he had to.

"Who are you?" they called back, fidgeting and reaching for their swords.

"Your comrades are dying in the center of camp. Soon, there will be more death and more blood. I do not want to make yours part of it," he said, looking them each in the eye. He raised his sword, laying its smooth, cool surface flat against his right palm.

They looked at each other nervously, but said nothing and did not move. "If you stay to face me," Okita continued, mercilessly, "you'll die. Flee now, and I will spare your life."

Suddenly, his face softened. "Please… leave," he whispered, very softly. "I do not wish to kill you. You have other places to be, other people to be with, others who need you. It is not my place to kill that which is not evil."

"You speak of evil," one man, who appeared to be their leader, said dully. "Do you know what evil is?"

"I have seen enough of this world to know evil, and to know that it is my duty to kill it when I see it."

"Evil is the Shogunate oppressing the lower classes. Evil is the Meiji Government and the Emperor trying to convince us they will somehow make it otherwise. Evil is being poor and hungry and watching your children starve and die before you because they are young, because their bodies cannot stand the strain."

Okita's eyes widened. This man… He nodded slowly. "So you understand evil?" The other man nodded in return. His eyes were dark, hollow, sunken into his face. _A man who had known pain, and sorrow, and yes… evil. _Okita's eyes filled with sorrow.

"Fighting here… is the only way I know how to fight evil," the man whispered. "The only way any of us know how. Nobori is giving us our only chance."

"I will not… I cannot take away from you the power to fight evil. That would be too cruel. Every man knows for himself what is evil, and it is within every man's power to fight it as he sees fit. Tell me," he asked softly. "Am I evil?"

The man studied him. Okita sensed the rest of the world falling away… the man and the boy in the center, the young man who was fighting for them, the men who opposed them, his men in the tent just beyond his reach… Only he and this man who studied him remained, their eyes locked, searching each other's souls for secrets that might never be unlocked.

"No," the other man said at last. "You… are not the evil I am fighting. You are only another man, fighting in this world, struggling to find truth and light. Although," he whispered, so softly Okita barely caught it, "I think you already know more light than the rest of us."

Okita nodded quietly. "Good. I see no evil in you either. Now will you let me pass? If you look in the eyes of the men whom you guard, and search for the light, I'm sure you will see it."

"I trust you," he said quietly. "If a man like you seeks to save these men, then they must be worth saving." He turned to the other guards, and motioned for them to stand aside. Mutely, they did as he ordered. "Your friends are drugged and probably won't wake for some time. You may see them, though, to assure yourself of their safety."

Slowly, Okita entered the tent, his mind blank. If his men were incapacitated… _Then there is no hope for the three I left behind. They will die, unless I can help them…_

He checked the pulses of his men, satisfied that they would live, and exited. He paused just beyond the leader of the guards, his back to him. Silently, he turned to look over his shoulder at him.

"When your men wake," the leader continued. "We'll let them go. I'll tell them you're safe, and you've gone ahead."

"No," Okita murmured softly. "Tell them to go back to Kyoto. I'll rejoin them when my work here is done." The man nodded. "Tell me… Namae wa nan desuka?" (A/N: What is your name?)

"Musashiro Kenji, master of the double blades. I taught all of these men the art of kenjutsu, and we came to Lord Nobori's aid. He promised us that we would expose the lies of the Shogun _and_ the Meiji government, and that we could build a world in which the government is fair to all."

"Musashiro-san, promise me something. As soon as my friends have awoken and are on their way, promise me that you and your men will leave this place and return from whence you came. There is no light to be found here, only darkness. Nobori may promise lofty goals, but I assure you he has not been such in trying to attain them—if they are what he sought in the first place."

"Ah, arigatou my friend. If there is no light to be found here…"

"There is more light to be found with your family and village. You are a samurai, I assume?" Musashiro nodded. "Then uphold your family's honor. Fight for light, but only where there is light to be found. Fight against darkness, but only where there is darkness to be fought. I promise you…" Okita paused, gazing skyward at the lit moon in the sky. "If there were more men like you, then we would indeed find more sun than moon in this world."

Without another word, Okita disappeared back into the shadows he had come from. The throbbing in his shoulder had ceased to bother him. There were three lives he'd left behind—three specks of light in this vast darkness that he could not allow to be blown out.

* * *

Mieko's hair whipped around her shoulders as she leapt in front of the swordsman wielding the kodachi. She'd watch him slowly freeze up, his movements becoming stiff and predictable. At the last possible moment she leapt in to save him—and the Ishin Shishi man she'd saved over a week ago.

Now she faced a wall of angry, trained fighters (_or not so trained_, she thought, as her eyes traveled over the group). Her eyes narrowed dangerously, and she rooted herself firmly to the ground. She felt the man with the kodachi come up just behind her, and hold it out ready. Time seemed frozen as the others took in her presence. They were wary of her—they did not know her skill, and they feared her because she'd come out of nowhere, without them knowing.

She smiled to herself, beneath the face cloth. _Let them come. I'm ready. _She'd been through four fights in the last day. Her body was alert and awake, and she was at the height of her power.

Finally, one man broke the standstill and charged her with a spear. Smiling grimly to herself, she leapt up and kicked out, breaking the spear's movement with her right foot. Twisting her torso, she whipped her left leg around to kick him across the face. Landing gracefully in nearly the spot she'd started, she dared him to make the next move.

The other men seemed to have backed away, deferring to the power of the spearman. In accordance, the man with the kodachi had backed away and stood protectively before the child. Mieko understood perfectly. This was a man-on-man duel, one that everyone else would respect and not interfere in.

She dropped to a low crouch, which would force him to lower himself in order to attack her. She waited, watching his chest for signs of movement. She saw the twitching and twisting perfectly, and sprang to her right just in time. Pushing off the ground without ever landing, she flew at him again, landing two quick kicks into his back. Grabbing his shoulders, she vaulted herself over to land in front, skillfully knocking his spear aside with her feet.

This close, she could sense his hidden power. He was much more than a spearman—there was strength and calm, quiet power rippling through his arms. Without flinching she began throwing punches—rapid, blinding punches with her fists. Every so often she knock him with an elbow strike, hoping to convince him to surrender.

The power she sensed was not ignored by its wielder. Before long, he brought both arms before his face, effectively shielding himself. His arms were so muscular she couldn't break through, and her punches fell uselessly. She sensed the futility of her actions, and dropped her hands. She backed away a few feet, trying to create distance. She was strong, yes—for a woman. If it ever became a fight of strength, she—the smaller, slimmer, and less-trained one—would be the loser.

He'd picked up his spear again, and twirled in menacingly. Her eyes narrowed as she watched it gain speed. With a barely perceptible motion, she loosened the knives against her wrists and began to seriously consider using the sword down her back.

"He's using the speed—and the downward force—to give it more power," she heard the kodachi-swordsman murmur, and her eyes widened in realization. He was right. If she got caught in it, things would not be pretty. But if she timed her own move perfectly…

She watched and waited for the downward swing. At the moment he stopped the circular motion and prepared to cut, she reached for the sword against her backbone. With a single swift movement she drew it and sliced upwards. The strength of the move was lacking because of the direction of her blade, but strength wasn't what she was aiming for.

The wooden staff struck her hard across her exposed left shoulder, and she grimaced. Her left arm was taking a beating tonight… the wound Nobori had given her had reopened, and she had to make sure she didn't slip in her ruby colored blood. Luckily for her, her move had worked perfectly. The sharp, pointed tip was cut away from the staff.

"You realize that if you'd been a second later, you wouldn't have a left arm," the kodachi-swordsman informed her.

Mieko nodded briefly to acknowledge she'd heard, and tossed the sword away. It wasn't her weapon of choice, and in this kind of duel she didn't want to be caught trying to use it.

The spearman looked surprised, but not completely shocked, that his weapon had been destroyed. "You're better than I thought," he said to her, gesturing to his ruined weapon. She, characteristically, said nothing.

"Well, a duel to the death, ne?" he said, flexing his arms and raising his fists. She, in return, raised her own.

A flash of movement out of her right eye caught Mieko's attention. A brief flicker again… and suddenly, the parallel-blade swordsman stood beside the kodachi-swordsman. They conferred briefly, and then they looked back to her. Mieko heard the whispers around the circle, and turned her attention back to her opponent.

He lunged, showing the punch he was throwing. But he was _fast_—faster than anyone Mieko had yet faced. Her own speed barely saved her, as she swept her injured left arm in a block. Unfortunately, she forgot about his other fist, which came to meet her upper right arm with a dull thud—though thankfully not a sharp crack.

His large hand had a firm hold on her left wrist, keeping her within his range. It took all of her skill to read his punches and dodge them effectively. Inevitably, though, there came a point where she was unable to dodge. While no punch landed directly, punches grazed her cheek, her temple, her ribs.

The longer she stayed trapped, the more she began to remember her fight with Nobori. Then the images of the little boy, cradled against the Ishin Shishi man's chest, the beaten soldier at Nobori's mansion, the dead girl lying on the futon in the inn…

With a sharp cry, she brought her right foot up and kicked him squarely in the jaw. With one hand holding her left wrist out to the side, and the right arm punching her, he left his own body largely exposed. The left leg came up to try to break his grip on her arm. When that was unsuccessful, she flipped the knife on her right wrist out.

Using the arm clinging to her to propel her forward, she drove the knife into the man's right bicep. This close range was dangerous…

"What are you thinking?" the patriot yelled, still holding the boy against him. "You can't fight him that close!"

"I… don't… care!" she managed in a strangled growl. That statement would certainly not identify her sex.

"He's driven by rage now," the parallel-blade swordsman said softly. "Something snapped… there is no cool calculation left in him. He just wants to win—and badly. But it'll cost him."

As if to confirm his words, a punch landed hard in Mieko's diaphragm, nearly crippling her. Two arms wrapped themselves around her small throat. Gasping for air, she stabbed backwards, feeling the blood begin to flow against the back of her thigh. He didn't stop. He wanted to win as badly as she did.

Tears came to the corners of her eyes as she felt imminent defeat. She'd never known defeat this close… _Death… no. Not now!_ her mind screamed.

"Focus!" the kodachi-swordsman's voice rang out. "You know how to get out—now do it!"

Slowly, as she felt the energy drain out of her, she tried to refocus her mind. _Break the grip_, it instructed her. She pulled her arms snugly against her sides, then began inching them upwards. She was trying to find the small space between her body and his arms. If she could sneak her arms in that spot, she could enlarge the space, and break free. Inch by inch she fought until her fists were level with her cheekbones. Then, with a tremendous burst of energy—the last that she had—she shoved outward with her elbows, bringing her arms up to lie parallel to the ground.

The man's arms fell away from her, his grip broken.

She gasped for air and in pain as she spun around and lunged forward. The bloody knife in her right hand was blocked—but the shining blade in her left was not. It sank easily into the soft flesh of the neck, and she summoned the last of her energy to move away as the blood spilled.

Mieko staggered backwards, and nearly collapsed. The parallel-blade swordsman moved to catch her, stabilizing her body. She drew deep, shuddering breaths into her starved lungs. All eyes were on the five of them now—dark, haunted eyes full of hatred.

"They want blood," the kodachi-swordsman whispered.

Mieko felt a gentle tug on her sleeve, and she turned around. The Ishin Shishi man knelt at her feet, and she dropped into a squat so she was eye level with him.

"Take Sano," he whispered, gesturing to the boy. "The Sekihou Army is camped to the east, just beyond the main road. Take him back for me…" She nodded, reaching for the boy. He came to her silently, clinging to the man as long as possible.

"Sano," he instructed the boy. "Tell them to leave, now. Go back to Kyoto, and have them wait for me there. If I escape alive, I should be back in no more than a week. If not…" Sano's eyes widened. "Fukihiro is to take my place." Sano nodded, sensing the gravity of the situation.

"Captain…" he whispered, and Mieko hugged him to her.

"He'll be fine," the parallel-blade swordsman cut in. "We'll make sure he gets back to you." Neither he nor the kodachi-swordsman seemed to have heard patriot's instructions to her.

Without a word, Mieko gathered Sano into her arms and disappeared into the darkness.

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Okay, so… Okita's section kind of pissed me off, and I really didn't know what to do with it, so I decided to pull in some random philosophical stuff. Sorry if that got tedious or corny, but I really needed to write something and move on to Mieko's section, which was infinitely easier.

If you haven't noticed, this is classified as an Action/Adventure story, which right now it pretty much is. The Romance bit is actually a mistake; romance doesn't come into this for some time (like, a LONG time). It should be Drama, since that's what's going to happen next chapter…

I apologize that Mieko's sections are consistently longer than Souzou, Aoshi, or Okita's section, but that's purely a result of Mieko being an OC. I can do pretty much whatever I want with her, without intruding on a preconceived notion of the character. I also apologize that there was so much fighting/action in this chapter, but there's a point, trust me. I've been in AP English too long for there NOT to be a point.

The only characters that belong to Watsuki are Sagara Souzou, Sano, Shinomori Aoshi, Hannya, Okita Soushi (sort of), and Saitou Hajime. I'm also borrowing the name (though not the character) Fujita Gorou. I created virtually everyone else, I think.

Read my LJ or profile for updates, especially if I decide to discontinue this fic.


	9. Chapter Eight: Morning of Revelations

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Obviously, I have not discontinued this fic. Though I am still slightly discouraged by the lack of reviews, I'll live with just **omasuoniwabanshi** and **elinviel** because they love me. 

**Raiyne Nagakura **left some reviews in my mailbox too!

I again request that you review if you have anything to say, but I won't keep my hopes up.

Responded to reviews by the aforesaid reviewers on my LJ.

* * *

Chapter 8

Sagara watched the assassin disappear into the shadows, Sano hugged to his body. The man was small, and carrying Sano would be awkward, but Sagara hoped that they would both escape.

"We have to cover for them," the parallel-blade swordsman said quietly, raising his sword. Sagara saw the deep shoulder wound, and winced. He glanced at the kodachi-swordsman. There was a shallow, neat cut across his left wrist, but it continued to bleed out of use.

"How long?" the kodachi-swordsman asked neutrally.

"As long as possible," Sagara muttered through gritted teeth, straining to stand. He propped himself up with one of his katana, clumsily sheathing the other one.

The parallel-blade swordsman nodded. "Then we fight."

The kodachi-swordsman beckoned to Sagara. "We'll stand closer together. We stand a better chance at surviving if we stay close. I'm assuming we're looking to survive this, too?" The question did not require an answer.

They stood in a triangle, back to back, swords raised. Three pairs of eyes settled coldly on their opponents, as they prepared themselves for the waves of men that surged toward them.

* * *

Mieko ran without falter, feeling Sano's weight heavy against her hip. She didn't dare look behind, but she sensed that they weren't being heavily pursued. She wondered why. This whole affair was confusing her… why were these three men here, anyway? She wished she could remember if Kawami had ever said anything about the Sekihou Army… 

She shook her head to clear her thoughts, and continued running. Sano was silent, face buried in her shoulder. She hadn't expected him to be so easy to carry; he looked to be about 10, and a 10 year old boy shouldn't be this easy for her short frame to carry.

At last, she saw the dim lights of the Sekihou camp. This camp was better prepared than Nobori's army had been, and she saw men moving in patrol around the border. She made enough noise so that they would hear and stop her.

"Halt! Who are you?" a voice called.

"It's me!" Sano called, wiping tears from his eyes. Mieko understood. Her older brother, Isamu, the youngest of her brothers, had never wanted to be seen crying.

"I know you won't talk," Sano said directly, with the simplicity only a child could know. "If they asked, you wouldn't say anything. And they know my voice." Mieko smiled sadly. So perceptive…

"Sanosuke? Where's Captain Sagara? Does he know you were gone?" the man called, clearly worried. Mieko smiled to herself and returned to the present situation. Sano was the child of the army, the son of all these men who had left their own behind or would never have one.

Sano's self-imposed restraint crumbled at the mention of the captain. _Sagara_… Mieko thought, filing the name away for future reference. Sano managed a nod. "He's still back there," he sniffled.

The man gasped, and ran up to Mieko and Sano. Rather than going to him, though, Sano stayed curled in Mieko's arms, sobbing. She tightened her grip on the boy, then handed him quickly to the other man. She needed to get back to have a chance in hell of saving Sagara and the other two.

"Wait," Sano whispered, brushing away his tears. "Are you going back?" Mieko nodded in the darkness. Sano looked at her curiously, then ran to her legs. He hugged her around them, large brown eyes gazing up into hers. "Tell him I'm waiting," he whispered. "He'll be okay, right? It's okay," he whispered up to her. "You can whisper in my ear. No one but me will hear you."

_What am I supposed to say?_ Mieko thought wryly. Slowly, she knelt down and placed her lips beside the boy's ear. Careful to keep her voice as low as possible, she whispered, "Of course. I'll tell him you're expecting him. I'll make sure nothing happens to him."

With that, she stood quickly and darted away, leaving Sano and the guard straining to see her black clad figure in the inky darkness.

* * *

Okita hissed through his teeth as the scythe he was fighting nicked the flesh of his upper right arm. He forgot about restraint as his blade lashed out. Gasping for breath, he looked to the other two men. The twin-katana swordsman, who was only able to wield one sword, was not faring well. He was weak, wounded, and barely standing. Okita knew it was the thought of the little boy—Sano—that kept him upright. 

The kodachi-swordsman was faring better, but not at all well. He struggled with reading the moves of his opponents and reacting. He'd taken the least damage of the three, but he was also out of breath, and Okita saw the small cuts and nicks increasing in severity as he fought.

"We won't last much longer," Okita ground out, guarding himself against an attack.

"We have to," the swordsman gasped, cutting down another man.

"At a certain point, it's not a matter of 'have to' or not. It's 'can' or 'can't'," the kodachi-swordsman muttered.

His words came true only a few moments later. Both he and Okita turned in shock as a spearman rammed the swordsman in the diaphragm. He doubled over, coughing blood. The spearman hit him over the head with the butt of his spear, and as the swordsman's limp body fell, prepared to run him through the heart with the pointed tip.

"No!" Okita yelled, lunging to block the spear. His block was complimented by the kodachi-swordsman's stab, which caught the spearman between the ribs.

Okita looked over at the kodachi-swordsman. "You'd best run now," he said softly. "You're young. You can probably outrun most of these men."

"You think I'd run now?" he asked coldly. "I thought you would've figured out by now that I'm not really in this for me."

"Hn." Okita gave a noncommittal murmur.

A flash of movement darted in front of Okita and the other man suddenly. "You're back," the kodachi-swordsman noted smoothly, as the assassin landed gracefully before them.

* * *

Aoshi smiled grimly. "So I assume the boy made it back safely?" The assassin nodded. 

"Then we should run. We have nothing left to lo—" the Shinsengumi man choked as a swordsman recklessly slashed him across the chest. Aoshi swore. They'd let their guard down for just a moment too long…

Before he knew it, the assassin had cut down the swordsman and was gathering the fallen twin-katana swordsman in his arms. Aoshi picked up the injured Shinsengumi man. "I think… he's going to help us."

Without a word, the assassin sprang backwards and started running. Aoshi followed him, worried about worsening the Shinsengumi man's wound. They ran out into the darkness, and when the assassin was satisfied they'd put some distance between themselves and the army (whatever of it that may have followed them), they turned quickly and began running back towards Hanayama.

_Why in the world…? _Aoshi asked himself. But he said nothing. Not only would the assassin not answer him, but he seemed to know where he was taking them.

They continued to run through the darkness, the assassin as quick as ever. But Aoshi could feel himself slowing down. The Shinsengumi man's weight was new to Aoshi, and he didn't know quite the most efficient way to carry him. Also, there was a wound in his lower right side that had started bleeding again. It wasn't a bad wound, necessarily, but it bled a decent amount.

For an hour they ran through the darkness. The assassin took them not back to Hanayama, but to a dirt track running through the nearby forest. It was the same one Aoshi had come on from Edo, he realized.

Another half hour passed, and Aoshi felt himself grow numb. The man's weight hardly seemed heavy at all, and the throbbing in his side had ceased to concern him. He moved mechanically, putting one foot before the other, never stopping, never thinking.

He didn't notice the root protruding just above the ground, and the next thing he saw was the ground coming up to meet him.

* * *

Sagara groaned as he came to. Sunlight filtered in through a small window, landing gently on his face and barely illuminating the tiny room he was in. He squinted into the sunlight, gauging that it was just after sunrise. 

He glanced down, and saw that he had been stripped of his bloody clothes, his wounds bandaged. He moved his arms tentatively, and found that the cuts there had been cleaned and bandaged tightly—but not so tightly as to restrict all use. Whoever had done this knew what they were doing, Sagara thought admiringly.

Remembering the night before, he didn't dare try to stand—he doubted that even with his wounds wrapped and the few hours of rest he'd had he'd be able to walk. Instead, he looked around the room curiously. A fire burned low in a hearth, and his clothes—and three other sets—were drying before it. On a futon to his right lay the parallel-blade swordsman, his hakama removed, revealing the wide bandages across his torso. The young kodachi-swordsman lay to the right of him, stripped except for the bandages across his abdomen and arms.

He glanced around again, and noticed the dark figure against the wall across from him. The amber eyes were lidded, and white strips of bandages broke the black clothing he still wore. Sagara smiled, and made a mental note to thank the assassin when he woke up.

A slight stirring beside him brought his attention to his new fellows. The parallel-blade swordsman opened his large brown eyes one at a time, blinking slowly to clear his vision. Upon seeing Sagara awake, he smiled broadly.

"You're blocking the sun," he mumbled sleepily, and Sagara noted how youthful and almost innocent he was. With a smile and a murmured "Gomennasai," he shifted his body to let the light flow in.

The other man—or boy, Sagara thought, glancing at the young body—was also awake. He was silent, small dark eyes watching them restlessly.

"Good morning," the parallel-blade swordsman greeted cheerily. The boy merely nodded and continued watching, making both of the other men highly uncomfortable.

"Well," the parallel-blade swordsman spoke up after the moment of silence. "I suppose we should thank him," he said, gesturing to the sleeping assassin.

The assassin shook his head gently, causing Sagara and the other man to cry out.

"Wahhh! Don't scare me like that!" he cried, stifling a laugh. After recovering from his shock, Sagara also tried to stifle a grin.

"Didn't you sense him?" the boy asked, an almost irritated edge in his voice. "He's been awake for some time."

Sagara glanced curiously at him. "You can sense him?"

"I am quite sensitive to ki. You give off ki every waking moment, even if there is no emotion."

"My, my. I'm impressed," the parallel-blade swordsman said with a smile.

The assassin finally chose to look up, amber eyes fixing on them. The face cloth still covered his mouth, and Sagara wondered why. With a little sigh, the assassin stood and moved to the fire, building it up a little so that the damp clothes would dry faster. Then he returned and resumed his seat across from the three, golden eyes watching sharply.

They sat in uncomfortable silence for a few moments, then the parallel-blade swordsman spoke up. "So… why were all of you there last night?"

More silence. Finally, he continued, answering his own questions. "I was sent to spy on Nobori's army a bit… see what they were like. My superiors wanted information on how much of a threat he was." Sagara noted that he gave away nothing—no name, no title, and no occupation. He made a mental note to do the same.

"I was doing essentially the same thing," Sagara said slowly. "Only Sano followed me, and things got ugly…"

"The little boy?" Sagara nodded. "Curious little devil, isn't he?"

Sagara laughed affectionately. "You have no idea…"

"So what about you?" the man asked, turning to the boy.

He shrugged nonchalantly and tipped his chin towards the assassin. "I was following him."

The assassin's eyes widened a little, and redirected the piercing gaze to his face. "I heard about you from some men in Kyoto… seems you took out some highly trained assassins a week or so ago. I direct a network of assassins, and wanted to see you in action."

The assassin gave no response, but looked away and out the window, contemplating what the boy had said.

"Dare I ask why you were there?" the man asked the assassin. The assassin, to no one's surprise, said nothing.

Even more silence. "We really don't trust each other, do we?" Sagara asked suddenly.

The man beside him shifted uncomfortably, a sign of agreement. "How can we?" he asked softly. "When there is so much bloodshed… we don't know who is our enemy and who is not. But," he added, "I would like to trust you. We saved each other, didn't we? Without asking any questions, or knowing where we came from…"

"You're Shinsengumi," the boy said quietly, taking the other man by surprise.

"Yes…" he finally admitted.

"I recognized the Hirazuki—the flat blade thrust created by Hijikata Toshizou, for use by the Shinsengumi."

Sagara paled a little, feeling his muscles clench. The assassin turned his amber eyes on him, and closed them gently. He recognized Sagara, knew he was Ishin Shishi. He seemed to reassure Sagara that he would not let the Shisengumi man kill him.

"Well," the Shinsengumi man said, smiling embarrassedly and scratching the back of his head, "Now that you know I'm Shinsengumi, I suppose I might as well tell you my name. Okita Soushi, captain of the first unit of the Shinsengumi."

* * *

Aoshi started. "You're Okita-san?"

Okita smiled a little sheepishly and nodded his head. "You're… different than I expected."

"What did you expect?" he asked, with a little boy's curiosity.

"Someone more like Saitou-san…" Aoshi muttered.

"Ah, Saitou-san? You've met him?" Okita smiled, as if understanding Aoshi's surprise.

Aoshi nodded. "Yes, not formally, but I've spoken with him on several occasions."

"And what might those occasions have been?" Okita asked.

Aoshi shrugged again. "He gave me some information, told me about some goings-on in Kyoto, that sort of thing. And I've given him some equally valuable information."

"Oh?" Okita asked, eyes widening.

Aoshi nodded. "Yes. We've been especially useful to the Shinsengumi." Aoshi was enjoying this game of cat-and-mouse. Okita still didn't know that Aoshi was Oniwabanshu…

Okita frowned a little, and Aoshi couldn't help but be reminded of a child pondering a parent's riddle. "I give up," he said finally, sighing a resigned sigh.

"Shinomori Aoshi, Okashira of the Oniwabanshu."

* * *

Mieko's eyes widened. _So. The Oniwabanshu are chasing me… Well, I suppose I should be honored, but I don't think I'll be playing their game anytime soon._

"Ah, Shinomori-san!" Okita exclaimed, clapping his hands in childish delight. Mieko smiled to herself, bemused. She liked this Okita, Shinsengumi though he was. She hadn't taken much of a liking to the few Shinsengumi she'd met in her work, but Okita seemed like a good man.

"Call me Aoshi," he said automatically. "Formalities largely elude me in my line of work."

Okita nodded, understandingly. "I don't think you'll be talking anytime soon," he said, smiling at Mieko. She didn't even nod in return.

"So that leaves just you!" Okita said brightly, turning to the man on his left.

Mieko noticed that Sagara looked uncomfortable. "Well…" he began. Mieko understood his hesitation. Telling a Shinsengumi—probably the best Shinsengumi there was—that he was Ishin Shishi wasn't going to be easy. In any other circumstances, it would probably get him killed.

"I suppose there's really no easy way to do this," he said finally, sighing. "I don't think I'm quite as famous as either of you seem to be. Sagara Souzou, captain of the first unit of the Sekihou Army."

* * *

"Well," Okita murmured, rocking back on his heels. "How interesting. An independent assassin, an Ishin Shishi patriot, Oniwabanshu, and Shinsengumi."

There was silence as they contemplated each other's identities. Okita and Aoshi would get along fine, seeing as they were on the same side in the revolution, but Sagara…

"I don't see any reason why we shouldn't get along splendidly," proclaimed Okita finally, clapping his hands.

"But… I…" Sagara stammered, surprised.

Okita shrugged. "So what if you're Ishin Shishi? Doesn't make much of a difference to me. Granted, I'm not supposed to like them, and I'm theoretically supposed to kill you, but really… do you know the code of the Shinsengumi?" _I can't believe I'm going to quote Saitou-san_, Okita thought to himself.

Sagara shook his head. "No, I try not to associate with anyone but my men."

"Aku. Soku. Zan," Okita repeated dutifully. "Technically, I'm only supposed to kill evil. And, to be perfectly honest, you're not evil. Unfortunately, you will not have the honor of dying on my sword." A slight smile played over Okita's lips.

Aoshi and the assassin remained silent. They had nothing to contribute to this conversation. Aoshi's job was to protect Edo Castle from the shadows, so he wouldn't be crossing swords with Sagara, who was a man of the light, anytime soon. And the assassin had already protected Sagara once, and was likely to do it again.

"That's a relief," Sagara muttered dryly, smiling a little at Okita's wit.

"Now that we've got that out of the way, maybe we should rest some more. These wounds are far from healed, and I'm sure they won't help us much in combat. We can all return to Kyoto or Edo when we're ready. Oh, and thank you," Okita said, turning to the assassin. He nodded in reply.

"What are we going to do about Hanayama?" Aoshi asked suddenly. "We can't just leave it."

"I suppose we should go back and finish what we started," Okita mused. "We left everything in a great deal of chaos, I imagine."

"I don't want the army taking it out on the villagers," Sagara cut in.

"Then we go back," a new, quiet voice said. The three men looked in surprise at the assassin, who had finally said something. He had a pleasant tenor, which didn't surprise any of them, since he looked so young.

"He took care of Nobori last night," Aoshi added, gaining an appreciative whistle from Sagara.

"I imagine we took care of a good part of the army. We either killed them or scared them away," Okita continued.

"If we can finish the job…" Sagara said quietly, almost to himself. "The Sekihou can stay in Kyoto and not be bothered by battles and politics."

Aoshi turned his eyes on the older man. "You really believe that you can remain above the politics of the revolution?"

Sagara sighed, and nodded. "I'll do my best. My men, their families… they only want equality. And that's all we'll fight for. We want to stay out of the politics, out of the dirty deals that go on."

Aoshi's eyes narrowed as he snorted. "Go ahead and think that, then. Maybe I'm just a cynic, but even the Oniwabanshu can't stay above politics."

Okita put a restraining hand on Aoshi's arm as Sagara looked away. The assassin slid forward to sit closer to them. "Finishing the army should not be hard, once you're all healed."

Okita raised an eyebrow playfully. "Quite talkative now, aren't we?"

"Don't expect too much," the assassin replied, turning away, effectively ending the brief conversation.

"Are we agreed, then, that we finish this together?" Sagara asked suddenly.

"Of course," Okita agreed readily. Aoshi nodded. The assassin gave him a look that screamed, "What kind of idiotic question is that?"

"Good," Sagara said, mind beginning to calculate. "Four men, provided the three of us get healed up properly, to take on the rest of the army…" Sagara frowned, brow creasing. "We can't go at it like we did last night, we saw how well that worked. Give me the day to think of something."

"A strategist?" Okita asked.

Sagara smiled wryly. "Not really. I'm just used to fighting against the odds."

Okita and Aoshi deferred to Sagara; he was a natural leader, and he took charge of the situation without offending either of them.

* * *

Mieko knew she should get back to the Kawami mansion; he would be requesting her presence that afternoon, as usual, and would throw a royal fit if she wasn't there. She could guarantee it would be worse than when she had first refused him. 

But she couldn't very well _leave_ now… Sagara was factoring her into his plans for Hanayama, and she wanted to help the village badly. She was the least injured of the four, and her aid would be valuable. Besides, if worst came to worst, she was sure that Kawami would respect the word of Okita Soushi or Shinomori Aoshi in saving her skin this time.

_That_, however, required her to give away her identity, something she wasn't quite yet ready to do.

And something else was keeping her here too… As much of an outsider as she might be here, nameless and without a past, she felt accepted somehow, in a way that Bakumatsu Kyoto could not accept her… There was camaraderie, however slight, and a connection between them lying just below the surface…

She could just barely remember the last time she'd felt this pull, this tug on her heart. It had been many years… she counted on her fingers—five years. _Five years since she'd last seen her older brothers and younger sisters. Five years since Isamu had hugged her and told her to be strong. Five years since she held her little sister Nakuru's hand and braided her lovely black hair, praising her beauty. Five years since…_

She sighed, and stood to tend to the drying clothes. Who was she kidding? After the Hanayama incident was wrapped up, and they knew who she was… they'd protect her from Kawami this once, and then leave her on her own again. That was how it always was.

After all, who would accept a woman who was more male than female, a woman who could never be fully female again, nor could ever be entirely male?

* * *

Aoshi was surprised by his own willingness to finish this off. The job of the Oniwabanshu wasn't to take on enemies like this. They were defenders… Aoshi had come out here originally to track down the assassin and convince him to join the ranks of the Oniwabanshu. Now, he was going to fight alongside these three men to take down the renegade army. 

He couldn't forget the men and women he'd seen streaming from Nobori's manor… the fear in their eyes, their gratitude when he made no move to stop them, even taking down guards for them. He couldn't even really figure out why he'd done it. It wasn't making the assassin's job any easier at that point. He'd done it just for those fleeing people.

And then the little boy—Sano. He'd fought to protect that man—Sagara, the Ishin Shishi patriot—because of the boy. So that Sano would grow up someday to be a great man, a man with dreams and vision, a man with the power and strength to do what Aoshi could not—protect Japan.

Now, he could care less about convincing the assassin to join the Oniwabanshu. He would settle for being trained in martial arts by him.

_Interesting turn of events_, Aoshi thought wryly, breaking out of his reverie.

After this was over, he could get back to Edo and the Oniwabanshu, and take up the duties of Okashira again. Everything would return to normal.

And he could train to make himself stronger… to ensure that every battle he fought in, every opponent he cut down, met with the _true_ strength of the Okashira.

* * *

Sagara lay back down on his futon and readied himself to doze off. He felt assured that Sano was safely back with the Sekihou, and that he would be rejoining them shortly. In the meantime, he'd have to come up with some brilliant strategy. 

He thought over what Aoshi had said, about staying out of politics. Hadn't Fukihiro always told him the same thing? Hadn't Fukihiro always chided Sagara for being too idealistic—to the point of foolishness?

_But if not for idealism… where would men be?_ Sagara thought, a little sadly. Why was it that thing that made men so strong also made them so weak, that those principles that gave strength also made one vulnerable?

He wanted equality—that was no lie. And at one time, he would have done anything to help Japan gain it. But now, things were different. Now he had Sano, he had Katsu, he had hundreds of men looking to him for leadership and guidance… he had no choice but to be a moral, idealistic man. What would happen if he were not?

He'd let Fukihiro worry about those consequences. Fukihiro was Sagara's second-in-command, the one who reminded Sagara of the earthliness of the men he was dealing with, reminded him that not all men aimed as high as Sagara.

"You want to win from a pedestal, they just want to win," Fukihiro often told Sagara. The first time, Sagara had been a little put-off at Fukihiro's words. All the consequent times, he'd understood what Fukihiro meant.

No matter. As many times as Fukihiro said those words, Sagara knew that he was just idealistic as himself. Fukihiro just had the sense to not depend on it, but he looked to Sagara to supply what he was forced to give up.

And once he and the others had succeeded at Hanayama… the Sekihou could go back to its peaceful government business, once again staying out of combat and politics.

* * *

Okita lay down and basked in the sunshine filtering through the window, smiling. Indeed, things may not have gone perfectly, but Okita was happy by nature, and few things could dampen his high spirits. 

It helped, of course, that he was a master swordsman and a leader of the Shinsengumi.

He frowned a little, thinking about his comrades waiting for him in Kyoto. Not just the men who'd come with him to Hanayama and gone back without him, but the other Shinsengumi leaders. Saitou, for instance. The man could appear cold and rather arrogant, but Okita knew the soft side of the most terrifying Mibu Wolf—and knew that he would be deeply worried about Okita's safety.

Harada Sanosuke, captain of the tenth Shinsengumi unit, with whom Okita was good friends. Harada had the same happy-go-lucky sort of attitude as Okita, and enjoyed life thoroughly, despite his oftentimes dirty Shinsengumi work. Okita had to laugh, realizing that Harada would be more disappointed that he didn't have anyone to joke or drink with when Okita wasn't there than that Okita's assignment was a failure.

"You honestly think Hijikata would be angry?" Harada would kid. Okita could see Harada shaking his head, laughing. "Hijikata wouldn't have the heart to punish you, dear one, because in the end he would suffer too…" Harada's chuckle echoed in Okita's mind as he blushed. Saitou would only let Harada get away with that kind of talk; anyone else, and they had the Gatotsu to answer to.

And Hijikata Toshizou… the thought of the vice-commander brought a smile to Okita's lips and a flush to his cheeks. He hadn't seen Hijikata since the day he'd been assigned to the Hanayama job, and he hadn't been with Toshizou privately since nearly a week before that. They were both patient men, but still… It seemed too long for them to have been apart.

Okita sighed and rolled over, wincing as his injured chest hit the futon. He whimpered slightly, thinking about how long it would be until he could get back to Kyoto. He was lonely, and missed his friends. (Indeed, in this respect, Saitou was right when he observed that Okita was like a child.) And he missed Toshizou so…

But they would understand. They all knew how selfless Okita was (though Saitou might snort at it)—they all knew that Okita couldn't walk away from the village now. Even Toshizou would understand…

_Though he won't be happy that I won't be able to see him again for another week, _Okita thought as he drifted off to sleep, a faint smile gracing his youthful face.

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Okay so… where to start…

Like the brief random glimpses into the characters' personalities? Too bad if you don't—they're staying.

Mieko's past is pretty important, and will be factoring into a lot of what she does, says, and is. It will all be revealed in time (and in a very dramatic fashion, if I do say so myself).

Oh, the thing with Okita, since that's likely to raise the most eyebrows. I finally caved in to the Emlee/Mary pressure for Hijikata/Okita pairing, so voila. It is here. I switch between the names a little… Okita will often refer to Hijikata by the familiar first name Toshizou, because they're… well… you know, so please don't get confused. I _do_ hope nobody's offended…

And Harada's in here because one day, I was reading Kenshin manga and I saw Watsuki's picture of the Shinsengumi leaders, and I was like, "WOW Harada is HOT." So I decided to use him. Plus he's the model for Sano, so… how bad can he be?

I've tried not to borrow too much from PMK, but if the way I portray any of the Shinsengumi is weird because I've been influenced by PMK, I apologize profusely. I have now forbidden myself from watching PMK or Shinsengumi until I've finished this fic, vowing to base my characters entirely on pictures of the characters and Watsuki's brief notes.


	10. Chapter Nine: A Legend Is Born

UPDATED AUTHOR'S NOTE 3/17/05: I edited this fic a little, so the intro to this chapter was turned into the prologue for the story. I really like the prologue I had, but really, it's each character reflecting 10 years later on the Four Swords and what happened to them, so I thought it would be a better prologue to The Dark Side of the Moon. **elinviel** also said it made it sound more like a legend, so I figured it couldn't hurt to make it the prologue to the story.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Okay, so the limit on the summary prevents me from putting a warning in the summary, so I'll put it in an Author Note at the beginning of chapters.

The format of the story now is a little odd… If you have any questions about it, or need any explanations, feel free to ask me in a review or via email or Livejournal comment.

**Mild Shounen-Ai.** There. You've been warned.

Responded to reviews by **elinviel**, **omasuoniwabanshi**, and **Stardustangel1** on my LJ.

Chapter 9: A Legend Is Born

"Shit!" Sagara swore as he tore through the underbrush.

"Just keep running," Aoshi said quietly, pausing to look back. "Get back to the house."

"What?" Sagara demanded, turning to look at the young man.

"You heard me. Okita and I will finish this off. You need to get him back to the house and take care of those wounds."

Sagara shifted the assassin's weight on his shoulder and nodded. "Okay. Do only what you have to, you hear?"

Aoshi smiled crookedly in the darkness. "Of course. Why?"

"Why?" Sagara asked, startled. "What do you mean?"

"Why do you care?"

"Because… I…" Sagara frowned, not knowing how to answer the question.

Aoshi smiled thinly. "It's okay. I understand. Okita and I should be back before sunrise. We're nearly finished here anyway." With that, he turned and darted back towards Hanayama.

Sagara turned back and began running again. He had to get back to the house, where there was light. Then he could see the wound and try to bandage it, try to stop the bleeding.

The assassin lay limp over his shoulder, carried like a sack of rice. Sagara could find no other comfortable way to carry him. He'd taken the least damage the first time through at Hanayama, and had subsequently decided that he needed to make up for it tonight. Instead of staying out of the thick of the fighting, and picking off men like Sagara thought he would, the assassin had tried to protect the other three, still recovering, men.

Sagara thought he'd done that job a little _too_ well—now the assassin was the only one injured. A man with two blades had cut across the assassin's abdomen, leaving twin cuts across the torso. It had looked painful, and Sagara thought this trip couldn't be helping any. At least the assassin was unconscious; that would reduce the pain somewhat.

* * *

Aoshi and Okita finished up quickly, running the final remnants of Nobori's army out. They left behind sufficient threats, such that they doubted any of them would come back soon. As soon as they were satisfied they'd completed their job, they darted back into the forest to follow Sagara. 

"He's not much of a spy," Aoshi noted, tracing his path.

"He's anxious to get the assassin back, I'm sure," Okita murmured demurely, following the Oniwabanshu onmitsu.

"Hn."

They continued to travel, moving at a faster pace than Sagara and his load. They caught up with him just a mile or so from the house.

"Here," Aoshi offered, lifting the limp body from Sagara's shoulder. Sagara said nothing, but flashed a grateful smile at the young man.

They carried on in silence for the remaining mile. Okita stayed slightly behind, ever watchful of their vulnerable backs. Sagara stayed a little ahead, forging the path ahead. Aoshi kept to the middle, between the two older men.

They arrived back at the house shortly. "Quick, lie him down," Sagara ordered after throwing the door open. Okita quickly dragged a futon over in front of the fire as Aoshi laid the assassin down. Aoshi stepped outside to get water, while Okita started to build up the fire.

"I need light," Sagara murmured, not an order for Okita, just as a general statement.

He found a knife hidden on the assassin's left arm and used it to cut away the slashed shirt, starting from the bottom hem of the shirt. Okita's back was turned as he added fuel to the fire, so he didn't notice right away when Sagara stopped cutting. Aoshi came back in and froze in the doorway, water sloshing in the pail he was carrying.

"Anou…?" Okita asked, turning around. "Is something wrong?"

Aoshi whistled lowly. "Oh, shit," Sagara swore angrily under his breath.

Okita knelt behind Sagara and peered over his shoulder. "Oh… my," he murmured, eyes widening.

The assassin was female.

* * *

"Quit staring," Sagara suddenly said, snapping out of his shock. "Aoshi, warm up the water. Okita, find me some clean bandages." 

The other two men set out to their tasks. Without being told, Aoshi dropped a piece of linen in the heating water, drew it out, and wrung it over the pot. He handed the warm towel to Sagara, who gingerly wiped at the wounds with it.

Okita brought back a roll of bandages—the same roll the assassin had used to bandage their wounds a few days ago—and soon the assassin's twin cuts were cleaned and bandaged.

Now came the interesting part.

"We need to remove the bloody clothes," Sagara said simply. By that, not only did he mean the assassin's pants and undergarments, but also the strips of black cloth that bound her breasts.

In the end, Sagara ended up tending to the wounded assassin, and Okita saw that there was never anything other than concern in his eyes. None of them, if they had done it, would have violated her modesty and purity. They respected her, because they had seen her skill and ferocity. None of them would have harmed her.

Mieko woke feeling the dull throbbing around her stomach. She winced, remembering the two slices she'd taken from the man with the two blades. She realized with a little shock that she was back in her safe house, and that she was lying on a futon in front of the fire. Sagara leaned against the wall beside her, head down on his chest, one katana leaning against his shoulder between his legs. If she craned her neck, she could see Aoshi and Okita lying nearby on the other two futons.

She glanced down, and saw that she was in clean linens. Her bloody clothes had been removed, and someone had rebound her breasts and bandaged her wounds.

Her mind began to whirl. So. They knew she was female. Well, that saved her one problem. Now all she had to do was tell them as little as possible, so that they might still accept her and offer her their protection.

Stiffly, she sat up, propping herself up on two elbows. She tried to raise herself so that her arms were straight, but cried out at the pain in her abdomen. At the sound of her voice, three pairs of eyes shot open.

"Are you all right?" Sagara asked, starting forward to help her. She winced, hissed through her teeth, but said nothing.

"Lie back down," Okita ordered in his pleasant voice. "You'll just make it worse by trying to move." Grudgingly, Mieko lowered herself back down, and drew the futon back up to her chin.

Aoshi said nothing, but Mieko saw his dark eyes flicker with worry, and she blinked and gave a little half-smile to acknowledge that she saw his concern. His eyes widened a little, and he looked away.

"What do you want to know?" she asked quietly, staring at the ceiling, hoping to get it over with as quickly as possible.

"Whatever you want to tell," Sagara said, fixing his dark brown eyes on her.

She sighed and remained silent. "Start with your name," Okita said, prodding her shoulder gently and smiling.

"Mieko… Sakaki Mieko." She gave them her common name, the name that more people knew, the name that protected her from her past.

"Where are you from?" Okita continued.

"Kyoto. At least, that's where I live now."

"And why were you in Hanayama?"

She shrugged. "I heard about Lord Nobori. I didn't like what I heard. So I came to see for myself."

"I take it you didn't like what you saw," Sagara murmured.

"No." The answer was simple, direct, and left no room for argument.

There was silence in the room. No one wanted to pry further into her background, though there were certainly many questions to answer. Finally, Okita broke it.

"So what do we do now?"

No one seemed to know what to do with the question. It hung in the air before Okita, waiting to be answered.

"Go back to the way things were?" Sagara mumbled.

"Just leave here and walk back to Kyoto and Edo as if nothing happened?" Aoshi supplied.

"I suppose…" Okita murmured dully.

"Why?" Mieko asked curiously, voice oddly harsh. "Why pretend that the past three days never happened?"

"Because it's for the best. Technically, we're enemies. We should be at each other's throats," Aoshi cut in.

"So that's it?" Sagara asked suddenly, light coming into his eyes. "We're just going to walk away from this? Do you realize what we've done?"

"No, but I assume you're going to enlighten me," Aoshi snapped sarcastically.

Okita seemed to understand Sagara, because he picked up the train of thought, ignoring the irate Oniwabanshu Okashira. "We've come together… put something above the side we're fighting for in the Revolution."

"We put the safety of the village before our other loyalties," Sagara agreed.

"And Sano too. So why pretend it didn't happen?" Mieko asked again, eyes sharp.

"Well… we could… not," Okita finished, rather lamely.

"You said it yourself, Okita. There's still evil out there. And maybe…" Sagara continued.

"This house is always open," Mieko said quietly.

"We _were_ an excellent team. And if we learned how to fight together…" Okita trailed off. He and Sagara seemed to be the driving forces behind the brainchild, with Mieko supplying small tidbits of encouragement.

"Mieko, you said this house is always open?" Mieko nodded her assent, and Sagara continued. "The Sekihou is always stationed close to Kyoto, when they're not out on missions. The Shinsengumi are always in Kyoto. And you," he said, turning quickly to Aoshi, "Can make it here without difficulty."

"Why don't we work together?" Okita smiled happily at the simple statement, evidently pleased with himself and Sagara.

Mieko nodded. "I'm tired of working by myself," she whispered. Only Okita heard her.

Aoshi stayed silent, looking at the ground. Okita and Sagara had already made peace with each other, and Mieko had no qualms with any of them, but Aoshi… Aoshi avoided company like the plague. He'd never really adjusted himself to being social, and probably never would. He'd always been a lone wolf, moving through the world on his own without a care for anyone but the Oniwabanshu. He'd be hard pressed to give his loyalty to the three who sat across from him now.

"Funny, isn't it?" Mieko spoke up softly. "Just like that… we forgot who we once were, forgot the person that the world thinks we are—and became someone else for the sake of Sano, and those villagers." Her golden eyes were fixed on Aoshi.

"For the sake of all the oppressed," Okita agreed, sitting beside her and smiling.

"For the sake of all the weak," Sagara murmured, turning to look at Aoshi.

Aoshi was silent. Mieko's words were still playing through his mind… _Someone else, for the sake of Sano_.

"All right," he muttered, standing stiffly. "I'll stay."

* * *

Sagara took off down the road to Kyoto, Okita and Mieko trailing behind. In just the first two hours of the trip, the two had become bosom friends, laughing and giggling like young girls together. 

_Well, can't blame Mieko for that, _Sagara thought wryly, turning to look at the young girl. She said she was only 15, the same age as Aoshi.

Okita had surprised them all by admitting he was 25. Sagara was shocked. They were the same age, yet… there was something about Okita that made him seem younger, more innocent, more child-like than Sagara had ever been.

Both Sagara and Okita were samurai; neither Aoshi nor Mieko would reveal their ancestry. Sagara had not admitted that he had left his samurai family at the beginning of the Revolution, and that only disgrace and shame could be expected if he ever took back his old name.

Aoshi had gone back to Edo on his own. Mieko had offered to go with him, saying she was already in enough trouble as it was (a statement Sagara had not understood), but he brushed off her offer and disappeared into the forest.

Now Okita and Mieko were speaking quietly, seriously, and Sagara wondered what could have brought the pair down from the sky. They'd been so exuberant just a few minutes ago…

* * *

"Will you go with me?" Mieko asked again. 

Okita nodded gravely. "Of course. I don't want you getting into trouble, not after you helped us all."

Mieko flushed and waved the compliment aside. "Arigatou… I hate to use your name like this, but…"

"I understand. Few of the lords are pleasant to their servants."

"And I'm already on his bad side," Mieko muttered, more to herself than Okita.

"Hmm?"

"Oh, nothing," Mieko said quickly, flippantly. Okita's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. _We all have our secrets, _he thought, watching the girl's eyes become clouded and veiled.

"Why don't you come back to Shinsengumi headquarters with me?" Okita found himself saying, with a great deal of surprise.

"Anou…" she whispered, fidgeting nervously as she walked.

"I'm sure you'll like some of my friends," Okita smiled pleasantly. "And I can introduce you to some people who might be able to help you… and it'll make our story more believable," he added. He knew he was trying to get her to go with him.

"Well…" she murmured, glancing ahead at Sagara's back.

"Don't worry. We'll escort Sagara back to the Sekihou camp, check up on the little boy. Then I'll take you with me, and we'll go to Kawami's manor."

Mieko dipped her head quickly in assent. "All right, then."

* * *

Aoshi finally pushed aside the shoji and collapsed onto his futon, completely exhausted. The last few days had tried him physically and emotionally, and he had no wish to repeat the experience. 

He rolled onto his back and wondered, for the thousandth time, why he'd agreed to help the other three. What was it, that something just beyond his mind's grasp, that drove him to make such a deal?

Ah, well. No matter now. He'd promised, and a promise was a promise. He never went back on his word, and he was always loyal to those whom he'd pledged his sword.

There was a soft rapping on the shoji, and Aoshi mentally groaned. What was he going to tell the Oniwabanshu?

"Aoshi-sama?" Hannya asked quietly. "Are you all right?"

"Hai, Hannya-san, just resting, that's all."

"Ah. Well, we can talk later." Aoshi heard Hannya's soft footsteps padding down the hallway, and he knew the master spy was gone.

Rather than trying to think of a good story to tell Hannya and the others about the assassin, he began to work through what he could offer his new comrades. The Oniwabanshu was mainly a defensive force now, a group of highly trained warriors to guard Edo Castle. _That_ could hardly be of use to the others, Aoshi's skill with the kodachi aside.

But there was also the intelligence network… Hannya was the resident spy of Edo Castle, but the Oniwabanshu intelligence network spanned Kyoto as well. Kyoto was a treasure trove of information on both the Ishin Shishi and Shogunate loyalists. Every man capable of committing evil acts could probably be traced through Kyoto.

Aoshi made a mental note to get in touch with Okina the next day, and closed his eyes to rest. In a week, he'd be back in the safe house in the forest.

* * *

Mieko ran clumsily in her kimono and geta to catch up to Sagara, who was walking quickly through the streets. She understood his fast pace—Kyoto was not a place for a patriot to get caught. Even with Okita at his side, Sagara could still expect a sword through his gut if he was caught by Shinsengumi. 

She came alongside him, nearly tripping on her kimono, and his hand reached out to steady her. She smiled gratefully at him, and he flashed her a smile in return. It was then that she noticed how handsome he was.

He released her arm and turned to Okita, who was talking to him from his other side. Mieko flushed and looked away, highly conscious now of her sex and appearance.

The trio made it through Kyoto without incident, and Sagara led them to the dirt track that would take them to the Sekihou camp. Though the Shinsengumi, Bakufu, and Sekihou seemed to have come to some kind of truce (after all, the Sekihou was still stationed near Kyoto), it was nevertheless an implied statement of trust that Sagara took Okita there with him.

They traveled on for some time, mostly in silence. At last, in mid-afternoon, they rounded the last bend and camp upon the sprawling camp.

"Sagara-san!" a little boy came running up the path to meet them. Sagara smiled broadly and knelt down to hug the boy.

"Sano!" he cried happily.

Sano smiled impishly over his captain's shoulder. "The assassin promised me you'd be all right," Sano said.

"Did he now?" Sagara asked, eyes twinkling, flickering briefly towards Mieko. "If you ever see him again, make sure you thank him. He saved my life."

"I knew he would!" Sano cried proudly.

A smaller, slimmer, less robust and aggressive dark-haired boy slipped up the path to join Sano. He stood quietly, scuffing his feet in the dirt.

"Katsu," Sagara said, smiling, holding out his other arm.

Katsu and Sagara did not seem nearly as close as Sano and Sagara, but the bond was still there. Sagara ruffled their hair affectionately and assured them that he was all right. After shooing the two back into camp and to their chores, he turned to the amused Mieko and Okita.

"They're adorable," Mieko murmured, grinning. Okita could only smile his agreement.

Sagara laughed shyly, and nodded. "Yes, they are. But keeping track of them—and keeping them out of trouble—is not. Sano's a little troublemaker by nature, and he always seems to drag Katsu into it."

"Well," Okita said, sighing. "You have things to take care of here, and Mieko and I have business in Kyoto. A week from today," he reminded, turning back down the path.

Mieko hurried after him, calling, "Sayonara!" over her shoulder to Sagara, who stood just beyond the Sekihou camp to wave goodbye.

* * *

Mieko and Okita came upon the Shinsengumi dojo and paused beyond the gate. Tentatively, Okita pushed it open and slipped inside. 

"What's wrong?" Mieko whispered, coming up directly behind Okita.

"I'm trying to see if Hijikata is here," he whispered back.

"Hijikata Toshizou? Why?"

"Because if he is…" Okita trailed off, leaving Mieko to fill in the blanks.

"Oh," she answered simply, and fell quiet.

Okita couldn't hear Hijikata's angry voice from the courtyard, so he led Mieko by her kimono sleeve to the room he shared with Saitou. He gently pushed the paper screen out of the way and stepped in side, gesturing her to follow.

Of course, he didn't expect Saitou to be in the room changing.

"Ah, Okita-san, Hijikata—" Saitou was cut off by the sight of Mieko standing in the doorway, eyes modestly cast to the side. Saitou was only naked from the waist up, but she would still grant him as much privacy as possible.

"Ah… Saitou-san, this is Mieko-san. She helped me while I was in Hanayama, and now I've got to explain things to her employer. I'll be taking her back tonight." Okita found the story coming out sounding all wrong as he struggled to explain the situation to Saitou. _Wonderful. Now she sounds like a prostitute, and I sound like I'm taking her back to some brothel or other. And to anyone that didn't know, it would sound like I slept with her in Hanayama._ He really had to work on clarity.

Saitou's eyebrows rose in suspicion, but he said nothing to Mieko. Instead, he turned back to Okita and finished his sentence.

"Hijikata wants to see you."

Okita paled a little, and a little squeak escaped him. "He's here?"

Saitou nodded. "He's a little put-off with you, let's put it that way."

Okita's head dropped sadly, and he sighed loudly. "All right, I'd better go see him. Take care of Mieko while I'm gone?" he asked. He noticed Mieko's widened eyes and turned to look at her, willing her to accept this arrangement without question. At last, her eyes closed and she looked away. Okita slipped out of the room and left Mieko standing just inside the door, and Saitou kneeling on his futon.

* * *

They stood quietly in uncomfortable silence for several moments before Saitou snuck a glance at the young woman. She wasn't a great beauty, he noted, but she wasn't exactly ugly either. Rather, there was a strange, exotic kind of beauty about her… 

She definitely wasn't a common prostitute. Granted, that's what Okita in his bumbling way had made her sound like, but he could sense that she was still pure. Maybe not a virgin, but she hadn't lowered herself to _that_ yet. He suspected that she was a servant for some Kyoto lord; now that the Shinsengumi had moved in permanently, Shogunate supporters felt safer in the streets that had once been ruled by Ishin Shishi.

It was then that he noticed her large, golden eyes, the color so much like his own. They were huge, glimmering pools of gold, and he lost himself gazing into them. Shyly, she looked away, and he found himself studying her finely carved profile.

"Do you need anything?" he asked, a little tentatively. She shook her head quickly, stifling a yawn.

"You're welcome to sleep on Okita's futon," he offered, and her head snapped up. Those gorgeous amber eyes clouded, and a flush crept up her cheeks.

"Oh… um…" he stammered. "Don't worry, I won't do anything."

He could still sense her suspicion, as she gently pulled aside Okita's futon and lay beneath it. She turned herself towards him so she faced him—it must have given her all the security she needed, because she was soon asleep.

Saitou sat down on his futon, facing Mieko, settling down to wait for Okita. He knew the meeting between he and Hijikata was private, so Okita shouldn't be back for several hours. He meant to ask Okita about this young girl that he was now so keenly interested in.

* * *

Mieko woke two hours later, as dusk was falling on Kyoto. Saitou, she noticed, was napping on his futon beside her. Okita, it seemed, had not yet returned. 

She sat and stretched timidly, trying not to aggravate the wounds on her stomach. With a little yawn she sat up and looked around. She was startled to find Saitou's narrow amber eyes fixed on her; she hadn't realized he was awake.

"Okita hasn't gotten back yet. Hijikata must have been angrier than I thought," Saitou murmured. Mieko saw the amused grin at the corners of his mouth, and wondered how he could take this so lightly. There was something she didn't know…

He stood, and shrugged a blue gi over his shoulders. He went into the hallway, motioning for Mieko to follow him.

"I imagine you're hungry… Hopefully the food will be edible tonight."

"What do you mean?" she asked softly, following him down the halls.

Saitou grimaced. "Tonight's Harada's turn to make dinner, and he's a terrible cook."

"You don't have a regular cook?"

Saitou laughed dryly. "No. We have regular nuisances, regular cockroach infestations, regular tofu delivery, regular training sessions—a regular everything else _but_ a cook."

"Maybe… Well, perhaps I could…"

Saitou turned to look at her, gold eyes flashing in the dim light. "Could you?"

"Not all the time… I can't leave where I'm working now." She would never tell him _why_ she couldn't leave Kawami, though.

He took her word for it and nodded. "Well, perhaps you could relieve Harada tonight."

She murmured her assent as they came upon the kitchen.

"Ah, Saitou! Just in time! You like soba, ne?" Saitou nodded grimly. "I'll regret saying that," he whispered to Mieko, who was standing beside him.

"Good, good! I think soba's all we're going to have…"

"Ah, gomennasai," Mieko said sweetly, kneeling beside Harada. She quickly gathered the daikon, kamaboko, and spinach strewn over the small table and began chopping them deftly. Harada whistled and backed away.

"Saitou-san?" Mieko asked softly, not looking up from her task.

"Hm?"

"Would you fill up the pot with water, so I can make soba?"

Harada followed Saitou outside, helping him fill it with well water. "So, where'd you pick her up?"

Saitou snorted. "I thought you, of all people, Harada, would know me better than that."

"She's a pretty one," Harada continued. "Not a dazzler, but she's pretty enough. Was she good?"

Harada knew he'd gone too far when Saitou's eyes snapped up to meet his.

"I told you, Sanosuke—" Harada had really done it, for Saitou to be using his first name, "—that nothing happened."

Harada shut his mouth and said nothing more. He believed Saitou this time.

By the time they got back inside, Mieko had finished preparing the ingredients and was ready to cook. Okita and Hijikata had arrived as well, and Okita was chatting animatedly with Mieko. Hijikata leaned silently against the wall, watching the pair.

Dinner was more than any of them had expected (and Harada was pleased that he'd escaped his cooking-duty unscathed). Hijikata, Okita, Saitou, Harada, and Mieko sat around the small lacquered table in Hijikata's room slurping soba.

"Doumou arigatou, Mieko-dono," Hijikata murmured, setting down his bowl. Saitou noticed the honorary address and saw the girl become flustered, finally nodding and smiling at Hijikata in acknowledgement.

"Gochisousama," Saitou and Harada said after they were finished.

"Will you come back?" Okita asked, eyes lighting up, that impish grin on his lips.

Mieko laughed, and smiled. "When I can."

"Make sure you come when Harada is supposed to cook," Okita instructed. "He can't cook _anything_ decent."

Harada laughed, a full-throated hearty laugh. "I'd be quite happy if you did. Save me the trouble."

"No," Mieko said quickly, the same mischief in her eyes as in Okita's. "If I take over your cooking duties, you can wash the dishes," she instructed.

Saitou and Hijikata laughed as Harada groaned but obligingly gathered the dishes from the table. He disappeared into the hallway and began singing a drinking song as he headed back to the kitchen.

The remaining four sat in silence for a few moments, reveling in the moment that felt so pleasant and so… _normal_. In this time of chaos, none of them had believed that they could find something so seemingly commonplace so wonderful.

At last, Okita stood and beckoned to Mieko. "We should be going."

She nodded and stood, bowing to Saitou and Hijikata.

"Where are you going?" Hijikata asked sternly.

Okita turned to Mieko to supply the answer. "Lord Kawami's manor," she whispered.

"Ah…" Hijikata murmured, apparently thinking. "Saitou, accompany Mieko-dono and Okita." It wasn't a request, Saitou noticed; it was an order.

"Hai," Saitou said, standing and joining the other two.

* * *

They walked through the dark streets of Kyoto, ears alert and swords ready. Though they weren't wearing their Shinsengumi uniforms, they still kept an eye out for patriots in the streets. 

They arrived soon, and Mieko led them to the servant's entrance.

"Mieko!" Nakari yelled when she saw the girl. "Where have you been? I've been trying to convince Lord Kawami not to strangle you when you finally returned… Who are they?" she demanded, flushed with anger.

"Gomennasai," Mieko murmured, brushing past Nakari. "I did not intend to be delayed, Nakari-san."

"It is my fault," Okita said quickly. "There were some things we needed help with…"

Saitou picked up for the faltering Okita. "Unfortunately, Mieko-san was caught up in official Shinsengumi business, and we needed to keep her for a few days. I trust that her absence will be forgiven in this light."

Nakari sighed but held her tongue. "You'd best speak to the Lord about this." Saitou and Okita moved forward, leaving Mieko to follow. "And you," Nakari hissed, grabbing Mieko's wrist. "You'd better keep an eye out. Kawami has it out for you now."

Mieko's eyes widened, and she looked curiously at the other woman. "I don't know why you do it, because it's foolish and it can only get you hurt, but you keep yourself out of Kawami's hands. I…" Nakari took a deep breath. "I respect that, Mieko-san. Please be careful.

With that, Nakari gave Mieko a gentle push down the hallway after Okita and Saitou and turned away. Mieko smiled at the woman's retreating back, and scurried to catch up to the two Shinsengumi men.

* * *

_And thus it was, that on a cool night in the spring, in the dark woods beyond Kyoto, that a legend was born. Four warriors raised their swords to protect their country. _

_Their leader was the warrior of courage. A man who faced his life as he lived it, a man who left nothing behind and held no regrets. A man with a dark past that not even he delved into, shrouded at once in shame and glory. A samurai who fought with honor and compassion, and who faced his fate with a strength that only comes from within._

_The second sword was the warrior of loyalty. A man who at first could not conceive of pledging himself to the other three, but who soon found with them all he lacked in the world. A man who was known to few, but who would die for those who did. Another one with a dark past, and an even darker present. A man of the shadows, who wrapped the others in his comforting cloak of darkness._

_The third was the warrior of strength. A man who was the strongest of his kind, whose strength came from even beyond his sword. A man with nothing to hide behind his sweet, innocent smile. A man who knew love and friends, a man who would give everything for those around him. But a man with a dark secret, buried in his chest, a secret that he fought to cover with all his might._

_And the last sword was the warrior of love. A woman of the shadows, she took on two personalities. By day she was a demure and acquiescing servant; by night, she was the protector of the young, weak, and innocent. Though she had been denied love in her youth, she found it easy to give it to those who would accept her for the woman she was._

_Yuuki. Chuusei. Chikara. Ai._

_Those who saw the Four Swords said that their characters flashed in the moonlight just as their swords did—sparks in the darkness, reminders of the light that they tried to bring to a time of darkness._

_And thus a legend was born…_


	11. Chapter Ten: Dreams of Tomorrow

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'm not completely satisfied with this chapter (YET… grr…) I'm thinking of making a cool opening for it, but I haven't gotten around to it, and this fic has been sitting update-less for 15 days, which is a long time for me. I may be reposting this chapter in the near future. I may also start working on chapter titles… but that's a maybe.

**Mild shounen-ai**.

Responded to reviews by **Hitoezakura** and **Shadow Wolves** on my LJ.

Chapter 10

Okita skipped happily through the woods, practically singing to himself. The sun was dipping below the horizon, the night birds were beginning to sing… He had every reason to be happy, he thought.

Saitou and Harada were surprised that he had taken his night off without them; normally the trio would go out together into Kyoto, to eat _real_ food and drink sake. And if they didn't, Saitou and Harada knew that Okita was with Hijikata.

Not so tonight. Hijikata was out of Kyoto; nobody really knew where, not even Okita, although he suspected he was in Edo or Aizu. And Okita had instructed Saitou and Harada to go out without him, saying he would rather be alone tonight. Harada had responded with mock hurt, but had let the matter go. Saitou had also let it slide, but Okita knew that the amber-eyed man was thoroughly curious and concerned.

Okita was also a bit concerned about Saitou. Saitou had been interested in Mieko, more interested that Okita had ever seen him in _anybody_. That included the Hitokiri Battousai. It troubled Okita, because he didn't quite want Saitou involved with the girl. He obviously wasn't jealous in any way, but he felt that he needed to protect Mieko. She had been so secretive… and he feared that allowing Saitou to become close to her would force her to reveal more of herself than she wanted.

He also worried that getting anyone involved with Mieko would expose himself, Sagara, and Aoshi. The repercussions of their actions and involvement with each other, should they ever be found out, would most certainly not be pretty.

_Oh well. Doesn't do me any good to fret. I won't stop Saitou from pursuing her, but I will warn Mieko and try to discourage him._ Okita liked his plan. As long as Mieko knew, then she wouldn't be caught off-guard. _I should make sure to warn her about "Aku, Soku, Zan." It has the strange tendency to scare people._

The safe house was already dimly lit up from the inside by the fire, and as Okita opened the door he saw that something was boiling over the fire. He sniffed delicately—miso soup.

"Oishii!" he cried happily, running to the young girl cutting negi at the table. He threw his arms around her shoulders and hugged her tight.

"Ah! Okita-san!" she cried out, dropping the knife with a clatter. Okita continued to beam at her shoulder and squeeze her.

"You're making miso soup!" he cried happily, releasing her to jump up and down, clapping his hands. Mieko's eyes widened in surprise.

"Okita-san…" she murmured, somewhere between amused and disturbed.

"Don't worry. I imagine he gets like this a lot," Sagara said, reaching over to stir the boiling soup. Okita hadn't noticed the man crouched by the fire. Mieko shook her shoulders, like a dog shaking water out of its fur, and resumed her chopping.

"Has Aoshi gotten back yet?" she asked.

"No," Sagara replied. To Okita's curious look, he said, "Aoshi got sent out to get tofu in Kyoto." A grin spread over the man's face as Okita burst out laughing. Mieko's light giggle soon joined them.

"I fail to see what's so funny," Aoshi snapped, dropping in through a window. He strode over to the table and placed the block of tofu before Mieko.

"Nothing, Aoshi-san," she said brightly, smiling up at him. "It was just…"

"It was funny to think of you, of all people, going into Kyoto to buy tofu!" Okita was nearly doubled over with laughter. Sagara was smiling to himself as he stirred the soup again. Both of them had noticed the young man's unusually serious demeanor—the Okashira did not seem quite suited to normal errands like buying tofu.

"Never mind Okita. He's being silly," Mieko consoled Aoshi. "Arigatou, Aoshi-san!" she said, suddenly hugging him tightly around the waist.

Okita's laughter increased tenfold as he saw the Okashira's face contort and his muscles clench. Sagara couldn't help but let the grin playing at the corners of his lips escape. The Okashira was also clearly not used to familiar human contact. Mieko finally released Aoshi and finished chopping the negi, apparently oblivious to the response she'd exacted from Aoshi.

"Why am I surrounded by such touchy-feely people?" Aoshi grumbled, straightening his shirt and sitting down on the floor next to Sagara, who he hoped would prove more serious and dignified.

"Get used to it," Sagara advised. "Okita's the same way."

Okita smiled his trademark imp smile and lunged for Aoshi, tackling the young man with a hug around the shoulders.

* * *

After the simple dinner, Mieko cleared away the food as Sagara and Aoshi moved the futons and table to the side. With the room essentially clear, the four began their training together.

"Let's spar a bit, just to test our skill," Okita suggested. "I think we're all skilled enough to ensure that we don't get hurt."

Okita, clearly the combat specialist amongst the four, arranged the sparring pairs.

"Aoshi, Mieko, your skills are closest together. Why don't you go at it first?" The pair said nothing, but stepped forward and assumed ready positions.

"Can we fight with anything?" Mieko asked evenly. Okita considered her question before answering.

"No, make this as fair as possible. You're both allowed to use hand-to-hand combat, and you, Mieko, can use your suntetsu, and Aoshi can use his kodachi. But that's it," Okita said, trying to think if he'd missed anything.

Compliantly, Mieko stood upright and yanked on the knot in her obi. It fell away easily, and she kicked it aside. She shrugged off her kimono; the men had averted their eyes, and she laughed.

"Don't worry. Not only do I wear my assassin uniform underneath my kimono, there's not much to see anyway." She tossed the printed cloth aside and shook her body, adjusting it to the new looseness of her surroundings.

Aoshi raised his kodachi, and Mieko raised her fists. "Hajime!" Okita cried, and, after only a moment's hesitation, Aoshi lunged forward.

Mieko was surprised; Aoshi had struck her as a "waiting" fighter, a fighter who waited for his opponent to make a move and then defend against it. Instead, Aoshi was an initiative fighter. She leapt back easily to avoid the sweeping motion of his kodachi.

Aoshi was not surprised by Mieko's fast reaction; he'd seen her fighting back in Hanayama, so he knew she was good. He just wanted to know _how_ good, and if she would teach him anything.

They continued on for several minutes, Aoshi swinging carefully, guardedly, and Mieko dodging. Both seemed to be waiting the other one out. Neither attacked with any real ferocity or force, and neither was getting anywhere, either.

Finally, Aoshi decided he'd had enough and lunged forward in his special kodachi attack. Mieko was unperturbed, however, and smoothly moved out of the way. With a little flip she was behind Aoshi, right arm snaking around his throat, suntetsu gleaming between her fingers.

Aoshi smiled and lowered his kodachi—he knew defeat when he saw it. If they had been in a real fight, Mieko wouldn't have hesitated to slit his throat. And she hadn't even needed to work very hard, or use any ability. Mieko, in turn, dropped her suntetsu, and it disappeared into her right sleeve.

"Come," she said to Aoshi, suddenly and sharply. "Let's go outside."

"Why?" he asked, obediently following her nonetheless.

"Because," she said simply. "I think it would be beneficial if I taught you some degree of martial arts. Your kodachi isn't enough, obviously. With a sword that short, you could really do some damage at a close range if you can use all weapons available to you. That includes your hands and feet."

The door shut behind the pair quietly as Okita turned to face Sagara.

"Shall we?" he asked, drawing his blade.

"I don't even think that's necessary," Sagara said quickly. "I'm not much of a swordsman—nothing close to the caliber of the Shinsengumi."

Okita laughed. "That's all right. I would like to fight against your twin-katana. I have rarely fought men who can wield two blades with any skill."

Sagara shrugged and drew his two katana. "If you insist."

Sagara was right. Though the match lasted a few minutes, Okita was clearly a far superior swordsman. Even with his two swords, Sagara could not fight the lightning-fast Shinsengumi captain.

"Hmmm…" Okita mused.

"What?" Sagara asked, looking up at Okita. He was kneeling on the ground, completely spent by trying to keep up with Okita.

"You're not bad."

Sagara laughed. "You realize, Okita, that you beat me in less than seven minutes?"

"Seven minutes is longer than most of my opponents last," Okita said quietly, and Sagara saw his eyes turn dark and hard.

"While Mieko teaches Aoshi, let me teach you," Okita offered.

"Would you?" Sagara asked eagerly.

"Of course."

* * *

The next morning, Mieko wandered out into the streets of Kyoto. She was bored, and needed to do something—_anything_. She refused to stay in Kawami's house; ever since Okita and Saitou had spoken to him about her, Kawami had given her mornings and evenings free. She was only required to be there to serve tea in the afternoons—a plan which suited Mieko perfectly. He still, however, "had it out for her," as Nakari put it, and had made quite clear that if this arrangement were to be maintained, she would be in his bed shortly.

Mieko considered going to visit Okita at the Shinsengumi dojo, but decided against it. Instead, she walked past the edge of Kyoto into the hills, and onto the dirt track that led to the Sekihou camp.

As she picked her way down the dusty track, a light breeze picked up, fluttering her kimono sleeves and loose tendrils of hair. Though she'd put it up in a lady-like knot when she left the manor, she now pulled the pins out and let the ebony hair tumble down. Something about this felt more right—the formality of the bun troubled her, and it reminded her all too clearly of the true femininity she'd discarded years ago.

"_I'm going to cut your hair."_

"_But—"_

"_You won't be needing it anyway. Do you plan on getting married anytime soon, or pleasing any man with your looks? I didn't think so. Besides, it gets in the way when you fight."_

She didn't mind, though; she was happy the way she was. Kawami knew well enough to have stayed away from her so far—Mieko was glad she was not like Nakari or the other servant women, all of whom Kawami had bedded early in their service to him. She was not weak, like them, and she had managed to maintain her dignity.

"Ah, Mieko-san!" Mieko snapped out of her thoughts as Sagara's voice floated across the open grass.

"Sagara-san," she acknowledge politely, as the man came running up to greet her. He smiled and took her arm, leading her through the camp.

"Please," he said, smiling again. "Use my first name. I use yours; I think it only fair to return the favor."

Mieko flushed and smiled. "Souzou-kun," she repeated, teasingly. He laughed as he guided her to a large tent set slightly aside from the others.

"Sano! Katsu!" he called, holding the flap aside for her as she stepped in.

A little white blur came from nowhere and launched itself at Souzou. He stumbled as it latched around his shoulders—Sano's head peeped out from behind his captain's shoulders, unruly brown hair poking up like a tiny mountain range. His mischievous brown eyes blinked at Mieko, and she smiled at him.

Katsu, the other boy, stood quietly a little ways away. His long, dark hair hung over his face, obscuring one of his eyes. He was not nearly as open with his affection as Sano was, but Mieko could see he was jealous of Sano and Souzou's relationship.

"Ah, Sano!" Souzou cried out, grinning as he tried to detach the boy from him.

"Who's she?" Sano asked bluntly, pointing at Mieko. She smiled and inclined her head slightly at him, then Katsu.

"She's one of the captains friends, idiot," Katsu said quietly.

"Oh. Why's she here?" Sano continued, cocking his head curiously.

"To visit," Katsu answered simply.

"Oh. I see. Is she going to be visiting for long?"

"Baka! As if I would know," Katsu huffed, taking a few tentative steps forward.

"Ohaiyo," Mieko said softly, kneeling down so she was eye level with Katsu.

"Sano, Katsu, this is Sakaki Mieko," Souzou said, trying to contain a grin.

"Sakaki-san," Sano began, crawling down from Souzou's shoulder.

"Ah, call me Mieko-san," she said quickly.

"Mieko-san," Sano repeated obediently. "Will you be here for long?"

"I'm afraid not, Sano. I need to be back in Kyoto later this afternoon."

"What will you do in the meantime?" Katsu asked, dark eyes regarding her curiously.

Mieko shrugged and glanced at Souzou. "I'm not sure. I was hoping there might be some work I could do around here…"

Souzou met her eyes and began thinking. "Well… Sano's constantly ruining his clothes, so they need lots of patching. And Katsu's been looking for someone to teach him to write… Sano wants to train with Fukihiro today, he's our hand-to-hand combat master. Perhaps you could watch Sano and take care of his clothes?"

"I can teach Katsu-kun, too." But Mieko got the general drift of his request. He essentially wanted her to baby-sit the two boys. She was fine with that.

"Ah, gomen. I hate to leave you with those two, especially Sano," Souzou apologized, ruffling the boy's hair affectionately. "But I have a great deal of business to take care of, and I don't want to just leave them here." With a final warning to Katsu and Sano (meant especially for Sano, Mieko suspected) to behave themselves, Souzou strode off into the heart of the camp.

Sighing, Mieko sat down on the futon and removed her geta. Her feet were absolutely killing her.

"Do your feet hurt?" Katsu asked. She nodded, massaging them gently. Katsu said nothing, but she could tell he was thinking. Sano, on the other hand, was staring at her in open curiosity.

"Sano-kun," she said slowly. "Would you please fetch the clothes I'm supposed to mend?" Sano nodded and went to a small, neat pile in the corner. It was then that she noticed the two small futons beside each other in the corner of the tent. Sano and Katsu lived with Souzou.

Sano brought the white gi with its worn out knees to her, even thinking to bring the thread, needle, and cloth to patch with. She smiled at him and beckoned for him to sit down.

"When do you need to go train with Fukihiro-san?" she asked quietly, drawing out a knife to cut the cloth with.

"The men start training an hour after lunch. Lunch won't be for another hour or so."

"All right. Sit, and try to behave yourself. Also, watch what I'm doing, so someday you can do it yourself." Mieko had never been good with young boys, having never had to take care of them.

Sano's face screwed up a little, but he nodded and did as he was told. "Katsu-kun," Mieko addressed the other boy.

"Hai?" he replied tentatively.

"I'm going to teach you how to write."

* * *

"Ah, well… No news lately, I'm afraid. Everyone seems to be lying low for now. The Bakufu, Ishin Shishi, and Shinsengumi seem to have come to a standstill," the older man said, leaning casually against the wall of a building.

"Hmm. Well. All right, Okina-san. Arigatou. Keep your eyes open for me, ne?"

"Of course. There have been reports of some goings-on in Aizu; I have men there now, and I'm awaiting their news. There's nothing substantive, yet, of course, but I'll tell you as soon as there is."

"Again, thank you."

The intelligence-gathering spy nodded and slipped away, as Aoshi stood and walked into the street. The two had been inconspicuously standing beside a soba shop, and had just as inconspicuously disappeared into the crowd.

* * *

Mieko left Sano and Katsu with Fukihiro that afternoon and set out on her own. Sano's newly mended gi lay folded neatly on his futon, while the page of Katsu's neat printing lay on his. The two had done well that morning, Sano managing to keep quiet throughout Katsu's lesson. Mieko suspected that Sano had either fallen asleep or was paying attention as much as Katsu was to the lesson.

She found Souzou sparring with another man with only one katana, dancing lightly on his toes. Despite his protests, Mieko saw, Souzou was no run-of-the-mill swordsman.

She watched them complete the match, and the other man walked off smiling. Souzou noticed her and came to sit beside her. She noticed he was sweating profusely—the day was hot—and it ran in not-so-thin rivulets down his bare back. As he began to clean his sword, she walked over to a tub of cool water filled with small cloths floating in it. She lifted one out, wrung it, and then returned to the sweating man. As she wiped him down he struck up a conversation.

"How did everything go this morning?" he asked, wiping sweat from his brow and stretching.

"All right. Katsu is a fast learner; he's very good with his hands. Perhaps you could find him useful work…? He can fold origami quite proficiently, learned how to handle a brush in less than half an hour, and even picked up some sewing."

"Yes, I always figured as much with Katsu. He used to sit and watch me paint—"

"You paint?" she interrupted, rather rudely, she noted.

"Yes. Or, I used to. When things weren't so…busy."

"Ah." She remembered Souzou was samurai; as a child, he certainly would have had time for such recreation. Which reminded her…

But Souzou had already continued talking. "All the other captains think I should set Katsu to gunpowder mixing and explosives. His deftness would quickly make him an expert in the field, and we could use such expertise. But…" he said slowly. "I can't bear to get him involved in this like that. Sano, either."

"Sano gets himself involved, though," Mieko pointed out.

"Sano's like that. Katsu's smart enough to stay out of it." She didn't argue the point.

"I just can't… I can't let Sano and Katsu become what I've become."

Mieko let her toweled hand fall away as she stared at Souzou in disbelief. "What?"

"Do you realize, Mieko, what I've done to get here?"

"No, I don't, Souzou-kun, but I imagine it can't be any worse than what I've done." He noticed her eyes were hard and dark.

"Then you understand."

"Tell me," she demanded.

"Tell you what?"

"Everything. Why you're here. What you've done. Why you're not living quietly on some manor tucked away in the hills, growing rice, married with children—like most samurai. Why you'd sacrifice your life for these men, most of whom you don't know, and—" she said, dropping her voice, "Why you'd sacrifice your life for me, or Okita, or Aoshi."

He was quiet for a minute, letting the wind whistle through the camp and fill his silence. "I don't want to be like most samurai," he began quietly. Mieko set down her towel and sat beside him, hands folded in her lap, waiting for him to continue.

"Most samurai… I couldn't stand to be most samurai. When I was twenty, I was all set to become most samurai. The damn spitting image of my father. Everything was arranged just right—the house was prepared, the fortune I could use to start myself, my family had even picked out a bride for me.

"And then… One year, on a whim, almost, I started traveling Japan. My family's rich—we became a samurai family through wealth, not birth—so it wasn't a huge matter. I visited so many places: Edo, Kyoto, Hiroshima, Aizu, just to name a few. And what I saw there changed everything for me.

"As I walked those streets, I realized what a spoiled child I'd been. How easy my life had been. And then it dawned on me—my life was easy, my life was good, because someone else's wasn't. Someone else was suffering, Mieko, someone else was living in the streets and begging for food. Someone else was the one whose father died robbing a store to feed his family, someone else was the one whose mother died from syphilis selling herself in a brothel.

"I never knew anything, Mieko, _anything_. I never knew pain, or suffering, or poverty. _Never_. But that's what the world is, now—winners and losers. Someone wins only because someone else loses. That's it. That's the world—_my_ world—in a nutshell.

"I went back home, but things were never the same. I couldn't look at my family the same way. I kept thinking about how the upper classes were taking advantage of the lower classes, how unwittingly—because I refuse to believe that those I knew did it intentionally—people like my father took part in extortion and greed. It sickened me.

"So one day I left. Believe me, it caused a huge ruckus. Everyone hated me—my father, brothers, sisters, mother, intended fiancée and her family. But I couldn't stay. I had to get out—had to find my own way to live. I couldn't live the life of a wealthy samurai while I knew what I did. I ended up joining the Ishin Shishi, because they said they would take down the Shogunate. I reasoned that since the Shogunate was the entity that kept the class system in place, taking it down could only do good.

"I've kept true to that belief, Mieko. I've worked for the Ishin Shishi on the condition that I stay out of their politics. I don't care what they think or want—I just want my men to know the kind of life I did. Even reasonably close to my life would be good enough. I want their children to grow up the way I did, I want their wives to have what my mother and sisters will have.

"I did a lot of dirty things in the beginning. Arson, murder, robbery—you name it, I probably did it. But then someone in the government decided I was more useful elsewhere. They'd finally gotten around to listening to the common people, the merchants and the farmers. So they organized the Sekihou, and asked me to lead it. Now I've left my dark past behind and look forward to a bright future. Japan's future _is_ bright, Mieko, if only men would look for it."

He fell silent, staring at his clasped hands, until then unaware that Mieko held them in her own.

"Souzou-kun…" she murmured.

"Hai?"

"Please… don't let them take advantage of you," she whispered.

"Ara? You're sounding like Fukihiro."

"Maybe… maybe I'm worrying where I shouldn't be… But a man like you, Souzou, a man with a dream and the power and courage to fulfill it—that must scare men driven by greed and power."

"Ah, Mieko-san. Don't worry. I'll be fine," he reassured her, squeezing her small white hands.

She nodded and stood. "I'd better be going back to Kyoto. I'll be needed in a few hours."

He nodded in turn and stood with her. "I'll lead you to the edge of the camp. I'd walk with you to Kyoto, but I'm needed here. Will you be all right?"

"Hai, Souzou-kun. Don't worry about me," Mieko reassured him, patting her right wrist, where one of many suntetsus was concealed.

* * *

The original pairs stuck; Aoshi and Mieko were most fit to work together, while Sagara and Okita were both practiced swordsmen. Okita, the tactical master, determined that he and Sagara should hold off anyone else, allowing Aoshi and Mieko to slip behind the lines of fire and take care of their job.

Though none of them spoke it, they all knew what the task they were undertaking was. It was natural for Mieko and Okita; they each respectively lived the motto of, "Aku, Soku, Zan." As long as they stood by that, then what they did was palatable. Even Aoshi, though he was not a practiced assassin/ninja, knew somewhat of what he was getting himself into, and did not shy away from it. Sagara, however, though he did not avoid it, knew that he was going back to who he had been early in the Revolution. The thought at once repulsed him, but the fact that this would somehow be different kept him tied to the other three.

For the first three weeks, the four met at the safe house and trained. Aoshi had received no news from his Okashira of intelligence. Okita had heard nothing from the Shinsengumi—nothing, at least, that the Shinsengumi had not taken care of on their own. Sagara, not surprisingly, offered no information. And Mieko was stunned by Kawami's unusual silence.

On the fourth week, as Mieko was struggling with udon, Aoshi slipped in and crouched down beside her.

"I have news," he said simply, and those three words brought a halt to all other activity in the small house.

"What is it?" Okita asked tentatively, standing behind Mieko, almost using her as a shield. If he had been inclined, and the mood had not been so serious, Sagara would have laughed.

"In Aizu," Aoshi began slowly. "There are several factions joining together to fight. According to my onmitsu they're causing quite a stir in the streets and problems for many residents. Not to mention their illegal weapons deals. Normally something the Shinsengumi would take care of, were they in Kyoto." Okita nodded. "Only thing is… they're Shogunate supporters."

Silence fell over the room. Sagara looked down at the floor, while Aoshi and Okita locked eyes. After a moment, Mieko shrugged her shoulders and went back to chopping vegetables for dinner. Sagara slipped outside for a moment, mumbling something about wood for the fire.

"Could you do it?" Aoshi whispered over the steady click of Mieko's knife.

"Shirimasen…" Okita murmured.

"You're going to have to decide soon."

"Ah…"

The gentle clicking stopped, and Mieko padded quietly outside. Aoshi and Okita needed time by themselves now. She found Souzou sitting at the edge of the clearing, back towards the house, facing the dense forest. She settled herself beside him and smoothed her kimono neatly.

"How are they?"

"Talking," she answered simply.

"Ah."

"They both need time to think."

"Mmm."

"Could we do it without them?"

"I doubt it. Besides, would you really _want_ to do it without them?"

Mieko's eyes widened in surprise. She hadn't thought about that… Now that Souzou mentioned it, she hadn't carried out any assassinations since she'd met the other three. And he was right; she didn't think she really wanted to go to Aizu by herself, as she once would have.

"No, I don't want to," she said quietly. "But if they won't go, and it's as bad as Aoshi says it is, then I'd go myself anyway."

Souzou turned to look at her, and found she was looking upwards and away from him, into the highest branches of the pines. He studied her for a moment, then nodded.

"I understand. If you do end up going by yourself… Please tell me. I wouldn't dare go with you—I'm not the kind of fighter you want along on an assassination—but I do want to know where you are and whether or not you've lived. Although I assume you'd survive," he stammered quickly.

She smiled wryly. "Of course." After a moment of silence, she stood and brushed off her kimono. "I'd better finish the udon."


	12. Chapter Eleven: The Smell of Blood

AUTHOR'S NOTE: WAHHHHHHHH! IT'S DONE IT'S DONE IT'S DONE! 

After neglecting this thing for nearly 2 months, I've finally finished Chapter 11! -cheers- So Souzou got his chapter last time, and now it's Okita's turn! That's why it took me so long—as much as I adore Okita, I always seem to have problems writing his sections and chapters.

In case you've been wondering what I've been up to since my last update, you can read my profile or my LJ.

The scene at the end of this chapter is, in no way shape or form, shounen-ai/yaoi. It may seem like it to you, and I've tried my best to make that clear in the story, but IT'S NOT. So don't make it out to be, got it?

I must, however, warn you of the **mild shounen-ai** contained in this story.

Responded ages ago to a review by **elinviel**. If you read this fic, PLEASE leave me a review! I'm begging…

Chapter 11

"Here," she said softly, offering Aoshi his kodachi hilt-first. He nodded silently and took the weapon.

Across the room, Sagara was helping Okita remove his Shinsengumi uniform in favor of one more like Mieko's. He had found the clothes, similar to the attire he wore beneath his sleeveless coat, amidst the Sekihou's extra stores. The blue-slashed sleeves disappeared neatly as Sagara expertly folded the uniform. Okita had the feeling of a weight being lifted from his shoulders, as the Captain of the First Unit disappeared and someone new emerged.

Silence pervaded the room and wrapped the four warriors in its tender grasp. Mieko had silently cleaned up after dinner and removed her kimono and obi, carefully hiding away her youthful femininity and shrouding herself in darkness. She was now making the routine check of her suntetsu, stashing them neatly on her body. Sagara had only removed his patterned overcoat of the Sekihou and replaced white gloves with black, but he, too, remained quiet and contemplative. Aoshi hadn't needed to change; he sat moodily below one of the windows, gazing out into the night sky and the quarter moon.

"Ready?" she asked quietly, eyes already gone, following the path that they would take tonight towards Aizu, as if trying to discern the future. It would be a long, multi-day journey, and their spare, daytime traveling clothes were bundled into small packs that they would carry. They had agreed to travel through the forest at night, and stay in the cities and towns by day when possible. She had already shouldered her kimono-pack, and was standing anxiously by the door.

Sagara stood, handed Okita his bundle of commonplace clothing, and hefted his katana. After strapping them to his waist securely, he moved to stand with Mieko, back to Aoshi and Okita. With a quick, careless toss of his head, Aoshi had stood and was beside Mieko. Okita nodded, and moved to join them. His eyes dark and serious, Sagara stepped forward and pushed the door open, prepared to lead them down the path and through the dark forest.

* * *

It had been an agonizing week for Okita, one he couldn't even let Saitou, Harada, or Toshizou into. He knew, instinctively, what Saitou would say anyway if asked.

"Aku. Soku. Zan."

So easy for Saitou! And yet… Okita felt it would be true for him too. Saitou would kill anyone—_anyone_—even fellow Shinsengumi, if they ever proved "evil." Shogunate supporters who caused disturbances and worked in the shadows… not a problem for Saitou.

But Okita! He had always had some kind of thin loyalty to the Shogunate—it was, after all, the way he had been brought up. Unlike Sagara, he was true blood samurai, gifted with the title by birth and ancestry. He'd spent his life living up to that honorable code, to make himself into the picture of good grace and honor. The arising Meiji government could only take that away from him and his family. They promised equality for all people, the tearing down of barriers in society. While Okita admired the goal of equality, and the idealism of men like Sagara, he could not help but wonder what would happen if the structure of society were entirely dismantled.

He'd struggled with himself for many long hours, blocking out Harada, refusing to see Toshizou, even ignoring Saitou, his roommate. Quiet meditation in his room and in the garden of the Shinsengumi dojo had done very little to ease his troubled mind. In the end, they'd always ended with him wondering if he was a bad person for not honoring the goals of equality that the Meiji promised.

But surely… men like Saitou, Harada, Nagakura, Toshizou, Kondou… men of the Shinsengumi—they could not all be bad. They were all more than good swords (or in Harada's case, spear) men—they were good men, Okita knew, deep in his heart. They fought for goals equally as pure as Sagara's fight for equality, and they always fought with honor.

And if the code of the Shinsengumi could condone what Mieko and Sagara asked of him, then there was no reason why he could not do it.

* * *

The first night's travel was easy. They picked their way through the forest, Mieko expertly leading and Aoshi bringing up the rear. Though the four together could not travel nearly as quickly as Mieko or Aoshi alone, they made good time and found themselves a comfortable place to stay during the day. The grove they picked out reminded them of the grove where the safe-house was, only smaller, and with a small creek running along one of its edges.

Sagara instantly unrolled his pack to reveal the set of blankets and the small tent he'd brought along. Mieko and Aoshi marveled at his economy at packing (his pack had been just slightly bigger than either of theirs) and foresight. Wordlessly, Sagara set up the tent against a tree beside the river and passed a blanket out to each of the others.

"So thoughtful!" Okita chirped happily. "You're such an onii-chan!"

Sagara froze, half-bent over at the creek washing his hands and face. Mieko watched him guardedly, eyes narrowed, trying to gauge the extent of his reaction. Slowly, Sagara stood, wiped his hands and face carefully on a towel, then strode silently past Okita into the forest. Mieko suspected that he wouldn't go far, but he was clearly hurt. Her heart ached a little at the knowledge, and she turned slowly to the shocked Okita and Aoshi.

"What… what happened?" Okita asked softly, scared by the reaction his flippant comment had produced.

Mieko sighed quietly and motioned the two closer to her. "Please… just don't mention things like that again. It's… hard for him to hear." She shook her head helplessly. "It hurts to be reminded of the past."

Okita's eyes widened, and Aoshi nodded in sympathy. He understood what it was to have a past you wanted to put behind you, forever, never to dig up or delve into ever again. Sometimes, the little village in the valley came back to haunt him at night, the lights of his house shining in his dreams, his mother's gentle laughter filling his ears, his father's firm hands showing him how to plant seeds, his older brother and his wife indulging him with sweets and special trips into town… Aoshi shook his head quickly to clear his mind, trying to listen to what Mieko was saying.

"…three younger brothers and two younger sisters," Mieko said softly, wringing her hands in her lap. _A big family. Like mine_, she thought to herself. "He was always looking out for them… He was supposed to be there for them when his father was gone, you know, if something were to happen. He was supposed to get married, start his own family, help his younger siblings out when they wanted to start themselves in the world. I don't know everything, of course. I just think… you reminded him of what he left behind. The good things that he left behind. He still feels like he betrayed his younger brothers and sisters when he left."

"But to be true to himself… is that not worth the sacrifice?" Okita asked softly.

"Would you do it?" she challenged him softly. "Would you have the strength to leave everything behind like that?" Suddenly, her face softened and she shook her head. "I'm sorry, Okita-san, I didn't mean that. I just… I understand what he feels."

"No, Mieko-san, you are right," Okita said gently, clasping her hands in his. "It takes a very strong, very brave person to put their ideals before their loved ones. I respect Sagara-san for his decision, and admire the strength with which he pursues his dreams for Japan."

Mieko smiled at the older man, who constantly surprised her with his youthfulness and wisdom. "I know, I'm sorry…" she laughed slightly. "I just thought you should know. I'm sure he understands that you _didn't_ know, and you didn't mean anything by it when you said it."

"I do," Sagara's voice floated across the grove, and the three turned to look at him. He strode quietly over and sat down beside Mieko, facing Okita and Aoshi.

"I'm sorry I reacted like that. I've been telling Mieko about myself over the past few weeks, and it dug up old memories I thought I'd put behind me. I've been thinking about them a lot, and your comment just… it just reminded me, that's all."

"Sometimes it's all right to admit when something hurts inside," Aoshi said quietly. Then, in his characteristic way, he turned on his heel and moved out of earshot to the creek.

Silence fell over the other three. Finally, Mieko stood and walked away, murmuring something about finding food to feed them. Okita and Sagara sat silently beside each other, contemplating the blue sky, singing birds, and green grass. Sagara remembered a day nearly ten years before when he'd taken his little sisters Eiko and Rieko to play in a field of flowers near the manor. Oh, how they'd laughed and danced amidst the colorful summer blooms! They'd reminded a young Sagara of the spirits that were supposed to live in nature—tiny slips of girls with long, flowing ebony hair and long, thin fingers that carelessly caressed the silky petals. He remembered how they'd run up to him, trailing the sweet scent of the flowers, and pulled him running through the field. The field had seemed endless, stretching into forever, stretching into tomorrow and the next day and the next and the next, each as beautiful and perfect as this one. How peaceful, how easy, how beautiful life had been then…

Okita was also thinking of his past, now that the others had mentioned it. He'd been an only child, but he, too, could remember a day like the one Sagara thought of—a day so much like this one. He'd been but a little boy, even before he began his swords training. His mother and father had taken him out to the seashore on an outing while visiting Edo. They'd walked so far to find a quiet, empty beach… his father had been carrying a box containing a secret for Okita on his back, and Okita had gamely offered to carry the large basket his mother held. Not surprisingly, the eight-year-old Okita had quickly relinquished the heavy load to his mother early in the walk. When they'd reached the beach, his mother unpacked a lunch… Okita could still smell the sharp scent of pickled daikon, the rich, familiar smell of gohan shaped into musubi, the tart taste of the umeboshi buried in the center of the musubi. Then his father had opened the box, revealing a mid-sized tako, and Okita danced in circles around him… He had smiled and clapped with glee as his father set it up. The two had run down the beach together, the colorful tako trailing along in the sky behind them, and Okita remembered the sensation of flying…

Lost in memory, Okita sadly stood and put a comforting hand on Sagara's shoulder. "I wish I knew what it was to be a brother," he whispered, then walked away, gazing at the soft white clouds filtering the sun's light.

* * *

Mieko knelt silently beside Aoshi, taking the small twigs that he offered her in an attempt to build a small fire. They added twigs slowly, watching the pale orange flame lick at the dry wood. When the fire was strong enough to burn whole branches, Mieko set about making gohan in the small pot Sagara had thoughtfully brought along. Aoshi continued to tend the to fire, watching the young girl beside him.

Once the rice was covered and cooking, Mieko drew her knees up to her chest and sat watching Aoshi with her bright amber eyes. He shifted uncomfortably and looked away. She sighed softly and made up her mind to say something.

"Anou… Aoshi-san," she asked tentatively. She wasn't as familiar with Aoshi as she was with Okita or Souzou, so she was reluctant to refer to or converse with him comfortably.

He looked up questioningly. "Hai?"

She flushed, realizing that she really had nothing to say. She just wanted to pry Aoshi out of his shell… "How did you become Okashira?"

He studied her for a moment, considering the question. Then he shrugged. "I don't know, really. They just called me in one day and said, 'Here, take it, it's yours. Do what you will, protect Edo Castle.'"

"I meant… surely there were other men, other onmitsu and hitokiri who had been with the Oniwabanshu longer. Why weren't they chosen?"

"They were going to chose someone else. Someone older, more powerful—a more experienced onmitsu than I could probably ever hope to be. A man called Okina. He thought that it was time for a younger generation to determine the fate of the Oniwabanshu, though, so he recommended me. I don't know why… what possessed him to do it. He volunteered to be the Okashira of intelligence in Kyoto, and that's who I've been getting my information from."

Mieko smiled. If Aoshi didn't trust her, he wouldn't have revealed so much about his sources and the onmitsu Okina. The feeling of trust comforted her, made her feel that forming strong bonds with Aoshi, the seeming lone wolf, wouldn't be so difficult after all.

"You must have impressed him with your skill."

Aoshi shook his head. "I doubt it. I think I impressed him more with my potential."

She considered his analysis for a moment, then nodded. "I would agree with that, partially. You _are_ very talented now… I saw you fight at Hanayama, and I've been training with you ever since. But you are right, in that you _could_ be much stronger. With the shortened reach of the kodachi, you can control a fight. But you need more power than the kodachi offers."

"I know. That's why I wanted to learn from you."

Mieko looked surprised. "What do you mean?"

"The training we do now is like a dream come true… almost. I tracked you to Hanayama for two reasons. One, I wanted you to join the Oniwabanshu as a hitokiri and onmitsu. Two, after watching you fight, I really did want to learn from you. And then when we made this pact… Pretty soon, I didn't even care about you joining us—I just wanted to be able to learn from you."

"I'm flattered," she said quietly. "Although… I never thought of myself as much of a teacher. I didn't think anyone would want to learn from me."

"Why not? If people knew how good you were, they would be begging to learn hand-to-hand combat from you."

She snorted. "I never let anyone see what I can do in the shadows. And quite frankly, no one really cares. You, Souzou, and Soushi are the only ones besides my shishio. When people see my face, Aoshi, they don't think about fighting or killing or anything unwholesome or gruesome. Most of the time, people want me to teach their daughters dance, or poetry, or ikebana, or tea serving. They think that I'm just another of Lord Kawami's lady servants, trained in the arts of being female and being his damn _entertainment_. As if I could ever allow another woman to slip so low against her will," she snapped bitterly. Aoshi sensed her anger and put a calming hand over her clenched fists.

"Calm down, Mieko-san. You know none of us think of you like that—"

"—Can't speak for the rest of Kyoto, though—"

"—but you don't care about the rest of Kyoto, do you?"

"I wish I could say no, but what choice do I have? I can't interact with the three of you all the time, I can't always be _me_. Sometimes I have to be Sakaki Mieko, especially around other people… People who don't understand me. The rest of Kyoto doesn't understand me."

Aoshi was silent. He could offer her no words of wisdom, and wished that Okita were there. "Indeed… sometimes, we must forget who we truly are for the sake of those who cannot see us that way."

With that said, he leaned back against a tree and closed his eyes, effectively ending the conversation. Mieko studied him from beneath lidded eyes as she, too, dozed off, curled in a protective ball near his feet. The truth of Aoshi's final words stung her, hard, and she needed sleep to take away the bite.

* * *

They traveled in silence that night, each one lost in their own thoughts, thrown back many years into their pasts. Images flitted through their minds, sounds dimly crowded their ears, smells assailed their noses and memory took over them. Nevertheless, they made good progress, and the next morning found them settled down comfortably in the forest. Mieko and Aoshi were asleep, Mieko curled around with her pack as a pillow and Aoshi leaning against a tree, his pack in his lap. Sagara unrolled his blanket and laid it out on the ground as Okita took his and wrapped it around his shoulders. Sagara stretched out comfortably and was preparing to doze as well when Okita stopped him.

"Sagara-san?"

"What is it, Okita-san? Do you not want the first watch? I'll take it then," Sagara offered quickly, sitting upright and stifling a yawn.

"Iie, iie, that's not why I… I just… I mean…" For the first time Sagara saw his comrade at a loss for words. Okita sighed and stared down at his folded hands, then snuck a glance at his companion, who was now propped up on his elbows.

"I've… been thinking about it, this past week. I wasn't sure… if I could go through with it. It's easy enough to promise yourself to 'Aku, Soku, Zan' when you're surrounded by others… but another thing entirely to carry it contrary to how you normally would. I guess…" Okita shook his head ruefully. "I'm afraid I've confused you."

"Not at all," Sagara said easily. "I understand what you mean. It's easy for you to live by the Shinsengumi motto when you're surrounded by other Shinsengumi, but it's completely different when you're going against the norms of the Shinsengumi—fighting _against_ the Shogun, rather than _for_ him."

Okita nodded. "I didn't know what to do, at first… I thought all week about it—I even pushed away my normal acquaintances because I needed to be alone to think. But then…"

"You decided to come with us," Sagara finished quietly.

"Yes. It was one of the hardest decisions I've had to make in a long time," Okita murmured softly. Sagara wisely stayed silent and waited for the other man to finish.

"May I tell you something?"

"Of course," Sagara assured him, nodding in the growing daylight. Okita noticed how the light shrouded the other man, and wondered if he, too, would be allowed to bask in such holiness.

"I joined the Shinsengumi at its founding, I was there when it happened. I'd been training for years with them by then, so it was no surprise that I joined and was made Captain of the First Unit. But before that… My family's samurai, I told you that. I lived on a manor in the valleys outside of Edo. It was a ways away, though; taking a trip took us two days by foot and an hour by carriage. We didn't go very often anyways, since the manor was large and my parents were always busy. My father ran the farms, made sure everything was running smoothly and such… my mother ran the household, and both of them were always attending the Shogun and his vassals.

"I'm an only child, so I got everything. My parents spoiled me a little, I suppose, making sure that I was happy. But they also trained me well to serve the Shogun, just as they did. I won't go into the details of that; it's rather boring, and I'm sure you went through the same thing as well. Maybe your family was different—I don't know many samurai families supporting the Revolution, so I can't speak for them. But I know my family was outraged when things first began to change. I was still young, you know—well, you would know, we're the same age…" he trailed off, realizing he was rambling a bit. Sagara knew the signs of nervousness well. Whatever Okita had to tell him, he wasn't sure how Sagara would react but he wanted a favorable response.

"Go on," he urged gently, shifting a little but never letting his gaze waver from Okita's dark eyes.

"Well… Oh, I don't know where I'm going, Sagara. I just… I wanted to talk to someone, that's all." Sagara knew that "wasn't all."

"You're lying," he said quietly. "You don't become Shinsengumi for no reason, Okita. Every one of those men has a deep personal reason for being there. If it were simply loyalty, you'd be just a normal samurai defending the Shogun, not part of Kyoto's elite police force. The Shinsengumi are good, Okita, but they are the most targeted by the Ishin Shishi. Look at how many men have fallen to the Hitokiri Battousai! Trust me: men who do not _want_ to be there aren't. It's the same with the Sekihou."

Okita looked down and sighed. "I suppose you're right…" he said, thinking of Toshizou and Saitou and Harada.

"If you don't want to tell me now, Okita, it's all right. In fact, I may not ever need to know. I trust you and your motives. I can deal with whatever's in your past that haunts you. We all have ghosts, Okita, and most of the time we're the only ones that can see them." With that, Sagara reached over and gripped Okita's shoulder in a gesture of comfort, then lay down on his bedroll.

"Chaos…" Okita whispered, so that Sagara barely heard him. He propped himself up on an elbow and twisted his torso around so he could see Okita over his shoulder. The other man was staring at the ground unflinchingly. His body, voice, and eyes seemed drained, weary, emotionless. Concerned, Sagara sat up again and moved a little closer to Okita, so that they were only an arm's length away.

"What about it?" Sagara asked breathlessly, waiting for Okita to continue.

"Kyoto has become engulfed in chaos," Okita murmured, still not looking at Sagara. Sagara nodded his assent, and, after a moment, Okita continued. "People killing each other, innocents getting caught in the middle…" he trailed off, and his fingers curled slightly into his pants, twisting the dark material.

"They came, one day… I was only thirteen, I'd just started to get really, truly good at fighting. But I'd never been tested in battle. It wasn't time for that yet, I suppose… I don't know if it was my shishiou, or my parents, or maybe even me. It was summer. I remember because it was hot, and sticky, and I'd been out working in the forest. Maybe it was even a day off for the workers. Maybe that's why there wasn't a warning."

Sagara's eyes narrowed, and he reached out to Okita. Okita caught sight of the movement out of the corner of his eye and turned his head slowly to meet the gesture. Sagara found his hand gently cupping Okita's face, and he felt the wet, salty streaks beneath his calloused fingers. Okita looked up at his friend, eyes glistening in the dawn light.

"They killed my parents," he whispered, and Sagara felt the cool, tiny beads of pain spill onto his fingers. He pressed ever so slightly against Okita's cheek in comfort, and let him continue.

"I came back in the afternoon… it was late, sunset. The sky was so beautiful. So many pinks and purples and reds and oranges all spread across the sky, like the goddesses had laid out their summer kimonos and the silks fell on top of each other, one after the other. I was walking back from my work in the woods when I smelled the smoke. It wasn't cooking smoke, heavy with the herbs and spices and richness of supper, calling one home to warmth and safety. It was different—thick, dark, heavy with wood and a scent I could not identify.

It was the smell of blood," he whispered, eyes shut tightly, tears flowing steadily down his face, catching themselves between Sagara's fingers as he restrained himself from pulling away in horror. "It was the smell of blood, and of pain, and of hate and chaos and fear and sorrow and mortality but most of all—most of all!—it was the smell of burning flesh."

Okita was shivering, small, thin body racked by violent spasms of concealed grief. He rocked his body back and forth, and Sagara never moved his hand. Several sobs escaped in harsh, choking sounds, and that was when Okita turned to Sagara and buried his face in his shoulder. Surprised, Sagara let him stay there, gingerly wrapping his arms around the other man's shuddering shoulders.

"By the time I got there it was over. There was nothing I could do. _Nothing I could do_," Okita ground out the words viciously, emphasizing them by roughly gripping Sagara's shoulders. "I ended up being one of the best swordsmen in Japan, but on _that one day_ I couldn't do _anything_," he sobbed. "I don't remember what I was thinking as I walked through my ruined village, past the smoking buildings and the mangled bodies on the ground. Maybe I thought somehow my parents had escaped alive. My father was a good swordsman; he wouldn't have left himself unguarded…

When I got to the house, I _must've_ realized it. It's foolish to think that I was naïve enough to _not_ realize it." Okita's voice was cold, distant, dead, and he sat numbly in Sagara's loose embrace. "Everything was burned, broken… The servants were all dead, even their rooms ransacked. Of course everything of my parents' was gone. Everything valuable was gone. And why not? There was no one left to need them, no one left to care about them, no one left to own them.

I must've… I_ must've _known," Okita's voice was pleading, begging now, asking Sagara for confirmation of his actions. "How could I not have? But then why… why did I go looking anyway? Did I need to see them? Did I need to make sure they were gone, or did I just need to pay them my final respects? I don't know. I don't know why I kept going, why I went to the second floor to my family's private rooms. I don't know why I walked into my parents' room, pushing aside the broken screens and the torn paper.

But there they were… together. Together until the very end. My father was holding my mother in his arms. He was covered in blood—he died with his sword in his right hand, just like I thought he would. My mother was naked. I didn't understand at the time… it was a few years before I understood what happened there. I don't know what killed them. Maybe it was a sword or a knife, maybe it was because a vital organ was pierced or from loss of blood, or maybe they were so afraid or so ashamed they just let it happen. Those things do that to you—fear and shame—because we're too afraid to face the aftermath. They take away our power over our future, over ourselves, over who we are and what we do. They make us into something we're not, give us stories and lives and ideas that are not ours, tell us what to think and what to do. And they almost always win… if we let them fight with their strongest weapons, if it is not those things to which we raise our swords, then there is no point in fighting at all."

Okita fell silent in Sagara's arms, leaning against him weakly. Sagara didn't know what to say. What _does_ one say to someone who has just bared their soul to you, told you their deepest and darkest and most painful memories? Sagara knew without it being said that those memories, that anger and fear and despair, was what dictated Okita's life with the Shinsengumi. Instead of looking for the right words, he gently hugged Okita and let him continue crying.

* * *

Okita would fall into a deep sleep, and would wake with a start and an embarrassed cry. Sagara would wake too, but would find nothing embarrassing or compromising about the situation. Instead, he would gently hug the other man around the shoulders and squeeze his shoulder, then would stand and walk to his own bedroll. Okita would not watch him go, but would stare off into the now fully risen midday sun. He would know that what just passed between the two of them bound them forever as friends and confidantes, and that their relationship would be nothing like any other he was in. It was not the love he felt for Toshizou, no, but it was not the friendship he felt for Saitou and Harada. It was somewhere in between… a type of love that Okita had never been exposed to and so had never understood. One who had felt it might define it as the love between brothers.

But Okita had no siblings, and so the feeling in his chest remained unnamed, as it put down roots and twined its way through his body, filling him with a warmth and security and understanding he had not known since he came to Kyoto.


End file.
